He Shines With Your Light
by Siara Elen
Summary: Wee!Chesters: Dean 17, Sam 13. A hunt leaves John incapacitated and Sam and Dean frantically searching for a solution. Sam likes the plan a lot less than Dean does. Stupid, reckless, heroic older brothers. Angst-fest and Dean!Whump, if you're into that...
1. Chapter One: It's all fun and games

**A/N: The title is from the Alison Krauss and Union Station song, Ghost in this House. The song is totally unrelated to the story, but I love the lyrics, and the phrase is apt. If you haven't heard it, you should have a listen. The song is originally by a band called Shenandoah, but that's not the version I know.**

**I'm still working on my Dark Angel story, Shelter from the Storm, but I'm having some writer's block and the only things shaking loose at the moment are the chapter after the one I'm supposed to be working on and this Wee!Chester angst-a-rama fanfic. I'll get there with Shelter from the Storm, but in the meantime I at least wanted to post something to prove I haven't up and died. This one will be shorter than Shelter, probably six short-ish chapters once I've tweaked and divvied it all up.**

**Disclaimer: The Dothro is a made up creature. The Winchesters, the impala, Pastor Jim and anything recognisable from Supernatural were not made up by me. Would that there was money in fanfiction...**

**He Shines With Your Light**

**Chapter One: It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye**

Dean was psyched. Dad was letting them come on the hunt this time because it was the vacation. So, no school, and evil beasties to track down and kill. How awesome was his summer going to be? Other kids would be killing time hanging out at the mall and seeing lame teen movies. He was going to be making the world safer for democracy and pet rabbits and hot chicks in tiny shorts. Sweet.

Dad said it was called a Dothro. A light thief, whatever that meant. Souls or energy or something. Dad reckoned it was real old though, killed lots of people, so that meant it was time for it to get its head hacked off and its body burned. Or however you killed this one. They'd head out tomorrow and Dean and Sam would be Dad's back up, learning to kick evil's ass at the feet of the master.

But that was tomorrow. Tonight he wasn't above wasting a little time at the movies. Maria Tucci looked awesome in her tiny little shorts, and after the movie, if he was really lucky and the universe was kind to him, maybe she'd look even more awesome in the back of the impala out of her tiny little shorts.

"Dean!" The yell and the damp dish towel slapping his face brought his attention back to the here and now.

"What?" Sam was doing his best bitch face. How long had he been spaced out?

"Are you coming or not?"

"Coming where?"

"Basketball. Donnie Baker's backyard."

"As much as I'd love to kick your ass at basketball, tiny little man, I've got a lady to sa-tis-fy tonight."

"Oh, gross!"

"You'll learn, little dude. Ladies are not gross. Far from it. Ladies are as close to heaven as we'll get without dying."

"Girls aren't gross, Dean. You are."

"Nice," Dean flicked the dish towel back at Sam, "Now ask me for a ride, Sammy."

"Deeeaan!"

"Come on, get your crap already. I got places to be."

###

Dean woke with the sun and a grin on his face. Maria was the new word for pleasure. _Maria_. He breathed deeply and stretched. Hmmm, he could still smell her flowery shampoo on his t-shirt. Life was good.

He rolled over. Sammy was still asleep, sprawled with arms akimbo and mouth wide open, snoring gently. The kid had an excellent shiner, courtesy of Donnie Baker's elbow. He'd have to get to the bottom of that one. Accident or foul play? The answer would determine whether or not he needed to put a Donnie Baker beat down on his to do list.

In the meantime, there was every likelihood of a sleepless night coming up, depending on the ease of tracking the Dothro and how hard it was to kill, so he'd let Sammy sleep a little longer. He rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

A quick shower and he slipped out to pick up the paper and some pastries for breakfast. He always took advantage when Dad was home because there was no money for pastries when he took off to hunt alone. Dean had to make sure funds lasted in case Dad was held up longer than he thought.

He let himself in the kitchen door and Dad greeted him with the usual dawn grunt and a nod, reaching for the box of pastries like a life raft. Dean grinned, still in an obnoxiously good mood. The sun was shining, coffee was brewing, juice was on the table and he pulled up a chair and sighed with satisfaction.

Two coffees and some sugary carbs later and Dad was up to conversation, finally. Thank god. Dean was about to start poking at the lion if he hadn't said something soon. He was in too good a mood to sit in silence all morning.

"You up for some sparring this morning? You boys need to be at the top of your game for this hunt."

"Sure. I could use some exercise."

"I can see that. You're practically vibrating this morning. Good night?"

"Oh man, yes. Maria-"

"Hold it there, Romeo. I don't need details. Just tell me you were careful and respectful."

"Absolutely. Perfect gentleman. We have another date Friday."

"You're not getting in too deep? We won't be here forever."

"God, no. Maria's fun and all, but she's not into that any more than I am."

"Good. You wanna go get Sammy up? Breakfast'll be stale if he doesn't shake a leg."

"Sure. You see his shiner?"

"Yeah, apparently he got the basket anyway."

"That's my Sammy. Always with his eye on the prize."

"Kid did it deliberately?"

"Don't know yet. I got his back though."

"I know. Good man." It was just a throwaway comment, but Dean's chest swelled just a little at his father's praise as he ran upstairs to get his brother.

###

Dean went easy on Sammy on account of his shiner, but hard on his Dad on account of all the energy he needed to work off so he could focus and be steady on the hunt. He took his Dad down more than once and John grinned, slapped him on the back for his work and told him he'd be driving this trip. Dad's approval wasn't easy to come by and twice in one day, plus getting to drive the impala for a few hours out on the highway had Dean's mood flying.

They would be based at Pastor Jim's for a couple of days. The Dothro had been doing its damage in and around Blue Earth. They packed up duffels and piled into the impala after lunch. The windows were rolled down and there was no traffic and the impala roared over the blacktop eating up the miles. He was with his Dad and Sammy and since the driver got to pick the music the soundtrack was Zeppelin. He breathed deeply, feeling relaxed and happy and free.

"How come Pastor Jim's not taking care of it," Sammy asked. Usually they went to Blue Earth so Dad could hunt with the Pastor.

"He threw his back out on a shapeshifter hunt a couple of weeks back."

"Pastor Jim's getting old," Dean observed.

Dad smirked, "You wanna tell him that? You might've taken your old man down today, but you get on Jim Murphy's bad side and see how you like it."

###

They pulled into the driveway around three and Pastor Jim came out to greet them as they unloaded duffels and weapons from the trunk.

"How you boys doing?" He walked forward and pulled Sam and then Dean into quick hugs. John got a warm handshake and shoulder slap.

They followed him inside and at his instruction dumped their stuff in their usual rooms. It was nice to have somewhere familiar, sort of homey to come back to now and then.

Dean loved driving into town, loved the Jolly Green Giant (though he didn't admit that out loud) and he loved the comfortable old house, full of stuff the Pastor had picked up on his missionary trips. Some pretty wicked looking hunting weapons from Africa and South America. And the masks were cool. The Pastor had hunted evil on pretty much every continent.

###

They spent the afternoon prepping weapons and finishing up research. Jim went over the background. He'd got wind of the case because the last victim had been one of his parishioners, Manny Cotton. Cotton hadn't made it to work one morning. He'd been found unresponsive in the parking lot. Jim had been called to his bedside in the hospital. The doctor had written up a stroke, but Jim had made his own examination with a more open mind and had been horrified to discover that the man's inner light had been taken. Cotton died two hours later.

Jim dug deeper and found evidence of similar cases. There had been four attacks each year as far back as the records went. He'd collected information on all the victims. All of the attacks had been fatal, with the victim either found dead or dying within a few hours, generally diagnosed with stroke or sudden cardiac death. A few of those who hadn't died immediately had been reported as being seemingly awake, but totally blank, as though their bodies were still functioning but just empty of life.

There was no pattern to the victims, it wasn't picky, seemingly just opportunistic, but its hunting grounds were fairly narrow. All the attacks had occurred in a fifteen mile radius, most within five miles.

Jim and John had both been researching for more than a week but there wasn't a lot of material, mainly obscure references, and, as with a lot of their hunts, the lore was contradictory. Still, based on what they had turned up, they agreed that the MO suggested Dothro.

Neither they, nor any of the hunters they knew between them had hunted one before but Dad had heard from Caleb, who knew someone, who knew someone, who'd known a hunter back in the sixties who'd reportedly faced one of these things and killed it with a head shot of silver, so he was fairly sure that silver would work, and if not he also had consecrated iron, brass, holy water, salt and the old standby of a plastic can of kerosene and a Zippo.

"What is inner light?" asked Sam.

"It's the spark that brings us to life when we are created and becomes what makes each person special in their own way. Our inner light drives our personalities, our dreams and beliefs."

"Like a soul?"

"It's the force that fuels mind and soul and body and keeps them united.

"How could you tell that Mr Cotton's light was gone?" Sam asked.

"I could feel it when I said a prayer over him."

"How did it feel? I mean, how was it different from just dying of a stroke?"

"Sam. Don't bother Jim. The man was a friend." John's tone was just on the cusp of short.

"No, that's ok, John. It's an important question. It's hard to explain. I have been around death a lot. My flock often ask me to be there at the point of death to offer prayers and comfort. I don't know if it's the same for other men of God, but I can feel the moment the light is extinguished when a person dies and their soul moves to the next world. With Manny, he felt that way when I arrived, before he died."

"Ok," Sam nodded slowly.

"That doesn't help you, does it?" Jim observed wryly.

"I guess we wouldn't be able to tell if you weren't there."

"Can't say. I'm sure there are some people who can. Some of the accounts we've found suggest there were those who felt something. They were the stories that confirmed this was a hunt."

"Ok boys, gear up."

Dean slipped his pistol in his waistband and his sawed off into his jacket.

"You ready? Focused?"

"Yes sir." Dean was responsible for watching his Dad's back and Sammy and there was nothing he took more seriously than that.

"Sammy?"

"Yes sir." Sam was nervous. He wasn't into hunting like Dean was, but he wanted to do it right when he did go. And he sure didn't like the idea of having his light stolen. Dean put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Just stay close, ok, kiddo."

"Yeah." Sam was a little pale, but he managed a smile.

###

They started at the centre of the hunting grounds. Joy of joys, the creature, not looking entirely human, generally stayed underground. They would be rousting the sucker from a filthy sewer. The county blueprints had shown them that the sewer grid contained many miles of tunnels, so they may be searching for some time, maybe even some days depending on whether the signs were obvious.

Still, nothing could dampen Dean's mood. This was great. This was what it felt like to have purpose. Forget school, and trying to keep up with boring pointless assignments, trying to catch up at one school or having to cover the same mind-numbing ground in another. Here he was doing something important, something he could be proud of.

Three hours later he was still clinging to that sense of purpose, but the mood was a little less exuberant. God, sewers stank. Obviously they stank, but they _really stank_. He'd be smelling that in his dreams. He tried to recall the scent of Maria's shampoo as a distraction from the smell.

It was a lot harder to distract himself from the rats. God, he hated rats. They were disgusting, disease ridden, bitey, skittering little freaks, and he hated them. One had run over his boot and it had taken all he had not to cry out like a little girl. Maybe he didn't just hate them; maybe he was a little scared of them. Ok, a lot scared. But who could blame a guy when as a kid he'd woken up one morning in a skanky motel to the pain of one biting down on his hand? That was a memory to keep a guy up nights. He shuddered.

"You ok dude?" Dad whispered. He'd noticed the shudder. Fan-frigging-tastic.

"Fine."

"Rats, huh? Nasty little critters."

"You don't like them?"

"No one likes 'em, Dean. Too bad we can't shoot 'em. Give away our position."

"Damn straight. If we had silencers..."

"Not a bad idea kid. Maybe I'll look into that for next time."

"There has to be a next time? What about if we take out an ad, say we're above ground hunters. Winchester and Sons' Above Ground Hunting Services. No job too small, as long as there's no rats. Sounds pretty good, huh?"

Dad snorted and cuffed his shoulder affectionately. That'd be a no then.

###

Sam was trudging behind Dad and just ahead of him. At first he'd been doing his alert, wary hunter's walk, all stealthy and ready for anything. Now he was just trudging. He was only thirteen, and Dean figured four hours was a long time for a kid to keep up that level of focus and urgency.

"Hey Sammy, how you doing?"

"Bored."

"No kidding."

"Maybe it's not even here."

"Gotta rule it out though, right."

"I guess. But just think what we could be doing if we weren't down in the rat infested sewers. One ran over my shoe."

"You too huh?"

"God I hate rats. You remember that time you got bit? I thought you were gonna get rabies and die."

"You remember that? You were only, what five?"

"Of course. It was scary."

Ok, maybe it wasn't just him. Still, dwelling on stuff wasn't good for morale, "Drama queen."

"No Dean, they carry all sorts of gross diseases. You could've got really sick. I don't think it's sanitary to be down here you know."

"Of course it's not sanitary. It's a sewer; it's the opposite of sanitary."

"Why would anyone wanna live in a sewer? If I were a powerful supernatural creature killing my way through the ages, I wouldn't live in a sewer."

"Where would you live?"

"I was gonna steal someone's light I wouldn't think twice about taking their wallet too. Then I'd save up and buy a mansion or something."

"Gotta have ambition," Dean agreed with a smile.

###

Dad had point, so he saw the thing first and signalled for them to hold position. Dean crept up to his shoulder and took in the sight of it, scrunching his face in disgust. It was crouched in a corner, chewing on a rat. It didn't appear to have noticed them.

Sammy pushed between them to take a look himself.

"What's it doing? I thought it ate light?" he whispered.

"Maybe it wanted a snack?" Dean offered.

"Shh!" Dad slid his gun from his waistband and clicked off the safety. He took aim and fired.

The silver round spun through the air and hit the Dothro dead centre of its forehead. Dad had awesome aim. Unfortunately the silver didn't have quite the effect he'd been expecting. As it touched the Dothro's flesh, the bullet simply melted away.

Now the creature noticed them. It dropped the mangled rat and rose slowly to its feet. Oh, shit.

The Dothro was taller than a man, elongated and all sharp angles with long, elegant fingers tapering into pointed claws. Its hairless skin seemed to exude a silvery light while its eyes were burning red coals. The air around it shimmered with power in the darkness of the tunnel.

Dad pushed both boys back into the shadows behind him, preparing to make a tactical retreat.

"I see you hunter. You presume to disturb my refuge? You have no weapon to harm me. You should not have come here." It moved with a sinuous grace, deceptively fast.

Dad pulled a machete from his waistband; silver bullets had no effect, so he would try to hold it off with an iron blade.

"Boys, run, now!" He turned and pushed them urging them back the way they'd come then spun back to face the creature.

"Dad? You're coming too?"

"I'm right behind you!" Dad slashed at the Dothro, but the blade simply slid over the creature's glistening flesh. It lashed out a clawed hand and Dad dropped into a roll just out of reach. Dean pushed Sam forward, urging him on faster. The Dothro seemed to glide past them, cutting off their retreat and just as it reached forward, Dean grabbed Sam by his collar and dragged his younger brother behind him. He looked up open mouthed at the Dothro, towering above him, at least seven feet tall. He turned into the wall, shielding Sam as Dad sprang between the creature and his boys.

And then Dad was down and the creature was hovering over him, and a pale yellow light was drawn from his chest over his heart and taken into the Dothro's own chest. Dad's hands clutched at the creature's arms, trying vainly to pull free.

"Dad!" Dean called in panic. Shit, what the hell did he do now? That thing was killing Dad. No way. Not gonna happen. He reached into his pack for the gun loaded with the consecrated iron rounds. Maybe that would work. He fired, and again the bullet just touched the Dothro's skin like a caress and dissolved. It didn't even notice; it was so intent on his father.

"Dean?" Sammy's voice held horror and tears, and jacked up Dean's protective instincts several notches higher. He was not gonna let this thing kill Dad in front of Sammy. He pushed Sam back into the wall, trying to keep him from watching, as he pulled out the holy water and flipped the lid as he squeezed a spray over the creature.

It looked up calmly, as though curious, certainly not in pain, and regarded Dean with burning eyes, deep and powerful and without fear. He shuddered involuntarily.

"Your weapons cannot harm me, child, and you should understand symbols before you try to use them. I am older by far than the Son you invoke to make your water holy. Go now and I will not harm you or the infant." At the Dothro's words, Dean instinctively shifted to ensure Sam was out of sight behind him, but it turned its attention back to Dad as though dismissing them. Dad wasn't struggling now; his hands lay open at his sides. Dean's heart pounded painfully. He'd never seen his Dad incapable of fighting and it shocked and terrified him.

"Try the salt. It's older than Jesus," Sam murmured, and Dean took the can the younger boy handed him without question and threw a handful over the creature's back. This time there was a response; the skin rippled as though burning and though it repaired itself almost instantly, the creature hissed in pain and anger, and fixed Dean with a fierce look as it lashed out so fast, he couldn't avoid the swipe.

For all its grace, it hit like a Mack truck, and Dean found himself lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, winded and seeing stars. He slid to his knees, fighting nausea and his body's attempt to pass out, then Sam was beside him, and he forced himself to pull it together. He couldn't let Dad down; he had to keep Sammy safe.

"Salt, Sammy," he ground out through the urge to hurl. The younger boy pressed the canister back into his hand and helped him to stand. His head finally cleared and his stomach settled, thank god it was just a winding, nothing worse. If he'd gone down, what would have happened to Sammy? He gently pushed his brother behind him again and moved forward towards the creature. The salt had done something, not much, but something. Maybe he could use it to make it let Dad go at least.

As he raised his arm to throw the salt, the creature looked up again and his hand froze. "You are a brave hunter, child, but you are too late." It rose calmly and regarded the two boys with something approaching sympathy and then addressed itself again to Dean.

"I feed only four times each year. I will not harm you if you leave and do not return. If you attempt to hunt me again, I will take you both."

Dean's heart lurched and he couldn't breathe. Too late? Dad was dead? It couldn't be true. He dropped his arm abruptly. The salt would not kill the creature. He didn't want to disappoint Dad, but had no choice but to let it go for now. He knew Dad would understand; protecting Sam came before everything.

He summoned his courage so that his voice wouldn't betray him before the Dothro, "You will let us take our Dad." It wasn't a question and the creature frowned in surprise. It nodded respectfully and gestured with its hand as it moved away down the tunnel, silent and sinuous.

Dean knelt by his father, lying motionless on the ground, and laid a shaking hand on his chest.

"Dean, is he..." Sam's voice was hesitant and fearful.

"Shh, Sammy, I'm trying to check," he leaned over and listened for breath sounds. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. Dad was still breathing; they still had a chance.

"Dad? Wake up!" He shook him by the shoulders, but there was no response.

"Dean, Mr Cotton didn't die right off. It was a few hours." Dean turned slightly, taking in the tears on his little brother's face.

"Dad's not gonna die, Sammy. We're not gonna let him."

"All the others died, Dean," Sammy was crying in earnest now, his smaller hand curled into his father's large one.

"They weren't Dad, and they didn't have us. Come on, dude. Pull it together. We've gotta get him back to Pastor Jim's and we've gotta find a way to get his light back." He put a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "Sammy, come on, help me get him up. We don't have time to screw around!"

Between them they manoeuvred Dad up over Dean's shoulder into a fireman's carry. Jesus, Dad was heavy. He steadied himself against the wall for a moment, Sam keeping a hand on his arm as he fought to gain his balance, and then took a few tentative steps, checking his centre of gravity.

"Come on, man, grab the bags and let's get out of here."

Unluckily for Dean they were on the outer edge of their search grid and so it was a three mile slog (no breaks; there was no time to stop and rest) to the sewer entrance where the car was parked. That was before he had to climb forty six rungs of ladder to get to the surface. Sam did what he could to steady and push from below, but Dad was nearly 200 pounds (it felt more like 300 by now, and Dad really needed to lay off those pastries) and Dean was exhausted, finished, every muscle shaking and cramping with effort. He reached solid ground and dropped painfully to his knees, gasping for breath. Sam helped him lower Dad to the ground and the weight now gone; Dean thought he'd float away.

He steadied himself with his hands on the ground, trying to catch his breath, as Sam checked Dad's pulse and breathing, "He's still alive." The relief on Sam's face was enough to get Dean back on his feet and between them they managed to manhandle him into the back seat of the car.

"Sammy, sit with him. Keep checking him, ok?" Sam was shaking, but determined not to let Dad down, and especially not Dean. He nodded, and slid into the back seat, lifting his Dad's head into his lap.

Dean slid behind the wheel and slammed the door as he twisted the key in the ignition, put her in gear and floored the gas pedal. They had driven twenty minutes to get here; he made it back in ten.

**Continues soon... I promise!**

**Reviews are received with extreme gratitude and (if signed) responded to often tardily, but always and without fail.**


	2. Chapter 2: I'm a Tree

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who visited my first chapter! Here's chapter two. Planning to get this one posted in pretty short order; I'm tweaking up to chapter 5 of 6 right now. **

**The title of this chapter is the title of a song by Imani Coppola. The album that the song is from is called Chupacabra, which is obviously pretty apt for a Supernatural fanfic. Check it out if you get the chance and you're after something really upbeat with clever lyrics and a sense of humour.**

**Disclaimer: Bah! Really? Would anyone mistake me for the owner of anything but a prodigious DVD collection?**

**The story so far: John took Sam and Dean on a hunt for a light thief called Dothro. He managed to get his own inner light sucked out for his trouble and now it's up to his boys to get it back before his body gives up the ghost. Look for reckless heroism and angst from here on out... **

**He Shines With Your Light**

**Chapter Two: I'm a Tree**

"He's still alive," Dean asserted, standing suddenly from where he'd been sitting next to his Dad on the bed.

"He's still breathing, Dean. That's not the same thing." Pastor Jim spoke gently, hating to have to break this news to this boy who worshipped his father like a hero. "His light is gone. You know what happened to the others. Without their inner light, they couldn't live. They faded away."

"No! We're not letting him go, Pastor! We're finding a way to save him." The determination was coming off Dean in waves and it broke Jim's heart.

"Dean, I'm so sorry, I just don't know how we can help him." Jim put out a hand to touch Dean's shoulder, but the boy pulled back, unwilling to accept any comfort, instead turning to offer a hand of support to Sam, who stood pale and anxious by his brother, tear tracks on his grubby face. Jim could see that Dean was doing this for his brother as much as for himself. If he gave up hope, he'd break his brother's heart, not to mention scare the hell out of him about the future and where they'd go, how they'd live. Dean wasn't going to let that happen.

Jim wracked his brains for some way to help, but he just couldn't think of anything and it wouldn't help the boys to give false hope.

"We didn't see anything in the research to show that the loss could be reversed."

"But you weren't looking for how to save someone, just how to kill it," Dean insisted, knowing how focused his Dad sometimes got with research. He mightn't have bothered with anything other than the simple facts of the kill.

"Even the research on how to kill the creature was flawed," Jim reminded him, "Silver didn't work."

"It didn't like salt. Sammy found that out," Dean argued, proud that his little brother had figured out something that even hunters as good as Dad and Pastor Jim hadn't. "We didn't have that before."

"It said holy water wouldn't work on it because it was alive way before Jesus," Sam put in, "So I figured, salt's symbolic from way before Christianity."

"That was good thinking," Jim said thoughtfully.

"It's more than that, it's a place to start," Dean urged.

###

They brought the books upstairs so that they could keep an eye on Dad, both Dean and Sam sitting cross legged on the bed, wanting to be close to him. Jim had given them a little background. They thought the Dothro was from Celtic legend, come over to America with settlers back in the day. That was where their research had been leading them, but like they'd known before the first encounter, the material was thin on the ground. They'd tracked back to the start anyway, poring over every syllable of research anew for something that had been missed, something that perhaps hadn't been attended to. Dean's heart was pounding, panic growing with every second that passed without bringing an answer.

"Wait, what's this?" Sammy held the book out to the Pastor, "It says there's a ritual to kill the Dothro. How come we didn't use that?"

"We couldn't use it," Jim answered firmly, taking the book and laying it aside.

Dean snatched it up, hope stirring inside him as Sam continued, "It says you just need something pure."

"If we can lure it here and trap it in a salt circle, like that summoning spell Dad used with the fire demon last year, we can threaten it with the ritual," Dean surmised, "We'll kill it if it won't return Dad's light."

"Why couldn't you use it? Sam asked, nervously taking in Jim's grim expression as Dean started to sound more confident.

"I looked at that ritual, Sam, all last week and we had to discount it. It means _someone_ pure. It means a sacrifice."

Dean's heart sank. Pure. Well, that was him out. The first time ever he regretted being successful with girls. And he sure wasn't sacrificing Sam.

"Pure how?" Sam asked, "Like a virgin?" He wasn't ready to give up yet. Maybe they could just use the threat of it, not have to actually go through with it.

"No. The Dothro doesn't care about that. It's older than Christian sexual morality. It means pure of intention. Pure of heart. As far as I could tell, it meant someone driven by love rather than revenge. I think that's why the reference is so obscure. It's rare to find a hunter that isn't tainted so badly the ritual would be unusable.

"Well then I can do it," Dean declared, his hope reigniting, "I don't care about revenge, I just want Dad back."

"No, Dean. It would kill you."

"But what if we just threatened it?"

"No. You would have to be inside the summoning circle to bring it to you. There would be no way to defend yourself. We can't even be sure it would work. The ritual is out of all memory, it may never have worked." Dean wasn't looking at all dissuaded and Jim castigated himself for not taking that book himself. How could he have let Sam see that ritual?

Dean knew Jim would do everything he could to help Dad, short of allowing him to go on a suicide mission. Trouble was, looking at his little brother's face half hopeful, half despairing, and seeing the seconds tick away until Dad just slipped away, as much as he didn't want to die, he was starting to think there wasn't a lot of choice. How was he going to take care of Sammy without Dad around? Sammy needed Dad much more than he needed Dean.

"Look, just tell me how it works. Maybe there's a way we can use it," Dean persuaded.

Jim sighed. They weren't just going to let it go. If he knew what it really entailed, Sam at least would be against it. Maybe he could talk his brother down.

"There is a sigil, which needs to be drawn over the heart in salt water."

"Well we know that the salt could work." Dean reasoned.

"The sigil is a circle, the symbol of the sun to represent the light being taken, surrounding an arrow, which represents the piercing of the Dothro's heart with salt in order to kill it. The person would have to bring the Dothro to them in the circle using the first section of the ritual. Once inside, it will try to feed on the light of that person. The light is drawn through the sigil, carrying its power into the creature, poisoning it. The...sacrifice...would lose strength very quickly, so the second section of the ritual is spoken by another outside the circle, creating a seal so that the Dothro is unable to expel the poison."

Ok. So he couldn't just make a threat. He'd have to actually go through with it. Bargain for Dad's life and then kill the Dothro and try to hang on long enough to survive. Not ideal, but not out of the question. Not for Dad. "Could I kill it before I lost all my light?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at him in horror. This wasn't just hypothetical. Dean was talking about himself; he was actually considering doing this with no guarantee of survival, just an outside shot.

"No Dean, you can't! It's too dangerous," he yelped. Jim closed his eyes; he had an ally.

"Sammy, it's for Dad!"

"He wouldn't want you to!"

"Look, just hear the Pastor out. Is there a chance?" Dean locked eyes with him and Jim was relieved to see that the boy didn't actually want to die.

"Not enough of one to risk it Dean. That creature is ancient. It's been drawing power for nobody knows how many thousands of years. It will be very strong. And sacrificial rituals like this...those who created them didn't usually expect that the sacrifice would survive. They didn't really intend for them to."

Dean huffed in frustration. Would nobody back him up? "Well, is there something we could do to give me an edge? Like adapt the sigil with something protective?"

That was an idea. Sam wavered; he didn't want Dean hurt but if there was a way they could have both Dad and Dean safe, they had to take it. And the Dothro might be strong, but Dean was really strong too. He'd faced the creature in the tunnel after it took down Dad, and not even been scared. And then he'd carried Dad all that way through the sewer, miles and miles. And when they got home, he was gonna deal with that bullying prick Donny Baker on account of him deliberately elbowing Sam in the face.

"Spiral of Life, maybe?" Sam offered. He was flicking through printouts of Celtic symbols. "Or an eagle? That represents fearlessness and strengthening the community. That's like Dean."

Dean flushed; surprised and touched, he looked at Sam who hadn't even raised his eyes from the book, just thinking out loud. "And we could infuse the salt water with fir tree needles, you know, boil it up. The fir tree is evergreen. It represents strength, health and energy as well as purity. And you've got one in the back yard," Sam suggested.

"Would that work?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know. Maybe. But..." Jim felt overwhelmed with them both coming at him.

"It could work, right?"

"The Spiral of Life is part of ancient belief systems, and the fir tree is considered powerful, yes, but there's no guarantee."

"Birch?" Sam added, skimming the key characteristics, "Beginning, renewal and youth. Can live and grow in harsh environments, renewing devastated landscapes. You've got some, right?"

"Well, yes, and birch can be very powerful if you believe in that sort of thing."

"What do you mean, 'believe in that sort of thing'?" Dean challenged, "The ritual just says a sun and an arrow symbol drawn with salt water are enough to kill this thing. Those are powerful symbols, right?" What was Pastor Jim saying? That none of it would work?

"Well, yes but..."

"So why wouldn't this other stuff work too?"

"Dean, there's no way to test it. We'd be betting your life on guesswork!"

Sam swallowed. Shit. He'd been getting carried away with Dean's conviction that this was possible, even probable. He dropped the pages as though they'd burned his hand. The Pastor was right; they had no idea what they were doing. He couldn't risk Dean's life on a guess.

"Dean, we can't."

"Sammy, those are good ideas. Don't poop out on me now!"

"Pastor Jim's right, it's just a guess," Sam implored. Fearless was right. Dean was too fearless.

Dean gestured to Dad, doing his best to hold back the tears in his eyes, "Sammy, look at Dad. I can't do nothing. I have to try. I _have_ to!"

"But Dean, what if it doesn't work? You'd die _and_ Dad would die." He didn't want to say he'd be left all alone. It sounded too selfish. But that's what he meant.

"It'll work Sammy. The Dothro talked about symbols, remember. It believes in them. These are all old. Trees and animals. They're older than holy water. I'll make it give Dad back to us, then I'm gonna kill it."

Sam couldn't let himself get sucked in by Dean's crazy plan.

"Please don't Dean. You might not be scared, but I am."

Dean smiled. Not scared? He was frigging terrified. Of both options. But at least this way he'd be doing something. At least there'd be a chance. Sitting here waiting for Dad's heart to stop beating. That was worse than anything. Worse than torture.

"It'll be ok, Sammy, I promise."

"No! Don't promise. You don't know!"

He nodded, "Ok, I can't promise it'll work, but I promise I'm gonna do my best to beat this son of a bitch. Dad'll be ok, and I'll be ok. I'm doing this, Sammy. Pastor Jim, I need you to help me with the second part of the ritual. You'll say it for me, right?

"Dean, please think about this. Your brother could be left all alone."

"No. I'm not gonna let that happen."

"Dean, I'm not gonna let you do it," Sam stood, fists clenched. He had no idea how he'd stop Dean, but that's exactly what he intended to do.

Dean stood and headed for the door. There was no time to lose if they were going to get the tree stuff boiled up with the salt water. Dad was hanging on by a thread.

Sam launched himself at Dean, arms around his waist. If he couldn't use logic, he'd just have to hang on and stop him physically. Dean sighed. Well, it was nice to know the kid cared. He could be a snarky little brat sometimes. Too bad it was the wrong time for him to be showing it.

He didn't want to do it, but as soon as Sam had started to baulk, he'd known it would come to this. He pried Sam's hands loose and instead pulled him into a bear hug, trapped his arms within his own vice like grip. He lifted Sam's shorter body off the ground so he couldn't dig his heels in. Still, the kid was scrappy, kicking at his shins painfully.

He walked Sam back to the bed and managed to hang on with one hand while the other sought the cuffs he'd snagged from Dad's duffel and concealed in his waistband. He quickly secured Sam to the bed post, not giving him time to mount a defence, and then swept all the books and papers off the bed out of his reach. No way was the sneaky kid gonna get loose with a carelessly discarded paperclip.

"Dean, come on man! Don't do this, please! You can't! I don't want you to die!" Sam was crying now, he couldn't stop himself. Dean was going to get himself killed and there was nothing he could do to stop it. And Dad was just lying there. No amount of shouting or screaming would wake him up and keep Dean from seeing through this reckless plan.

"I'm sorry Sammy. I have to. It'll be ok. Dad'll wake up and I'll be fine. That monster has to die, or it'll just kill more people. You know that!"

"Please, Dean. Just don't go. Please! Pastor Jim! Please, stop him!"

Dean couldn't listen to Sam. He understood the kid was worried, didn't even feel disappointed Sam thought he couldn't do it. Hell, he admitted himself the plan wasn't exactly air tight. But it was the best they had. Nothing else had shaken loose from the research, and this had to be done.

###

Pastor Jim followed him down the stairs, Sam's shouts still ringing loudly in their ears. "Dean. Please, think better of this. Think how your Dad would feel if you died for him." Dean paused at the bottom and turned to the older man.

"Dean, if you're inside the circle with it, how can we be sure it won't just kill you? Why would it even agree to a bargain?"

"It could have taken Sammy and me too in that sewer, but it said we could go. It wouldn't hurt us unless we hunted it again."

"Yes, and now you're going to hunt it again."

"I won't have any weapons. I'll be asking it for a favour. Why would it care whether it has Dad's light or mine? It won't know about the sigil. It'll think it's a straight trade."

"You really think you can sell that?" Jim shook his head. Dean really didn't understand how rare it was for anyone to willingly make such a sacrifice.

Dean grinned, "I can sell anything!" His smile faded and he was totally serious, totally focused.

"Look. This isn't just for Dad. Like you said, this son of a bitch has killed its way through thousands of years, thousands of people. Someone has to end it. And you said there's not many hunters doing this work for anything more than revenge. There's not gonna be anyone as motivated as me. And anyway, how can I expect anyone else to do it if I won't? Dad wants me to be a hunter. He'd want me to finish this."

Well, how could he argue with that? It was the lesson he'd seen John teach Dean over and over all these years. He knew in his heart that if John could speak now, it would be to stop Dean, but how could he convince the boy when all the evidence of his life only spoke to the contrary. And what could he do? Handcuff Dean like Dean had Sam? Make them both sit there and watch their father die? Which was the crueller course?

"I..." Dean looked down, looking suddenly uncertain and very, very young.

"Yes, Dean, tell me." Jim's voice was gentle. Whatever happened he'd be there for the boy in this, there was no other choice.

"I want this to work. I don't wanna die, but I know I might. If I don't make it, will you look out for Dad and Sammy for me?"

Jim swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't think he'd ever met a braver hunter, a braver human being than this seventeen year old kid in front of him. He knew Dean understood the stakes, and he knew he'd faced the possibility of death before. He wasn't stupid or reckless, he was sensible enough to be scared, but too responsible to let his father and all those future victims die if there was a chance he could prevent it, even when the odds were stacked so high against him.

"Of course I'll look out for them. But we're going to get you through this."

"So you'll help me?" Dean looked hopeful again, just at the thought of not being alone in this.

"God help me, Dean, I will."

###

**Continues soon... **

**Reviews are not only always gratefully received; they feed my insatiable need for validation. It's sad really. Take pity on the ego!**


	3. Ch 3: You turn your back for 5 minutes

**A/N: Thank you, lovely readers, for making my stats page look so awesome! Lots of people from all over the world; it's very exciting. Thanks too for alerts and favourites and reviews. They are hugely appreciated. **

**Disclaimer: So, this morning, Eric Kripke came up to me in the street and said, "Siara, I insist. You should have them for the summer. I know you'll take care of my boys, and give them a good home. Remember Dean likes to eat cheeseburgers and Sammy has a fondness for sweetened lattes." I said, "Well, this is quite a surprise, Mr Kripke! And what a terribly sweet offer. I only have a one bed flat, but I'm sure we can all snuggle in nice and cosy. As it happens, I make excellent cheeseburgers, and have a weakness for lattes myself." He smiled and offered me his hand, and we shook on it. He promised to get them on a plane, and I of course offered to meet them at the gate. Heathrow is a very large airport after all and I know how Dean hates to fly. Then I was distracted by a very loud ringing sound in my ear, which turned out to be an alarm clock, of all things. "Rats!" I exclaimed to myself, as it appeared that Mr Kripke had de-materialised without giving me his number or the date and time of the flight. So, with a heavy heart, I showered, dressed, made my sandwich and got on the train to work. **

**While I'm waiting for him to come and find me so we can make the final arrangements, I thought I'd tweak another chapter. I'm sure he won't mind. **

**The story so far: John got his light sucked out by an ancient sewer dwelling demon. Racing against time to save his life, Sam and Dean came up with a plan to get it back, only for Sam to back out at the last minute, when he realised the plan meant almost certain death for his brother. Dean, self-sacrificing jerk that he is, handcuffed Sammy to the bed so he could carry out the plan without interference. Somehow he managed to persuade Pastor Jim to help him, but frankly, it's a pretty risky plan and the odds aren't in his favour... **

**###**

**He Shines With Your Light**

**Chapter Three: You turn your back for five minutes...**

Dean finished the recitation and stepped back to the inner edge of the summoning circle as he felt the presence grow and coalesce before him.

"I have never been summoned before. You would trap me?" The creature's power rippled the air and Dean swallowed nervously. If he didn't do this right...he couldn't think about that.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Look, dude, you took my father's inner light."

"I did."

"He needs it back."

"You intend to make me return it?"

"We both know I can't make you. But I'm asking. I'm offering mine in return."

"You would offer your own life for his?"

"Of course. He's my dad."

"You say it as though there is no alternative."

"There isn't." He frowned, "Is there?"

"You let your father go. You go on with your life. It is the natural order for fathers to pass away and sons to continue."

"Sorry to break it to you, but you're not exactly natural. And that's not an alternative."

"Why not?"

"Look, my Dad doesn't have a lot of time. Are you in or out?"

"I must know all the facts first. Why is that not an alternative?"

"My little brother. He needs Dad."

"What about you?"

"He doesn't need me as much as he needs Dad."

"I meant what do you need?"

"My family safe."

"Even if you are dead?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

"So. Will you give his light back?"

The creature looked at him, assessing and he held his breath, hoping it couldn't see what he was planning; the sigil was invisible, just dried up salt water with the juice of a few leaves, but if it was powerful enough to destroy this thing, he really hoped it wouldn't sense the trap...

"If you are dead, how would I escape the circle?"

"I made the circle. If I'm dead, its power dies too. Then you can leave."

"If I let your father live he will likely try to kill me again."

"We couldn't kill you. We thought silver but that didn't work. Neither did the consecrated iron."

The Dothro nodded imperiously, "The last hunter tried silver. I am impervious."

"You were hunted before?"

"Yes. He did not succeed."

"Huh. Dad says hunters tell tales. Apparently this one told tall tales. He put it about that he succeeded so we thought you were a different Dothro."

The creature looked affronted, "I _am_ Dothro. There has been only one of me for many centuries now. That Hunter as you call him was not a man of honour. He came with a partner and served that partner up to me. He escaped with his life and told lies about me. I should have taken him too."

"Tell me about it. I'd like to have a word with him myself."

The Dothro tipped its head to the side, taken aback at Dean's matter of fact way of talking to it, as though he wasn't even scared. A most unusual human. Brave, selfless. Almost involuntarily it lifted its hands towards Dean, anxious to be close to his light, to touch it, to feel its warmth, its purity and power.

More than it had wanted anybody in all its countless centuries, it wanted to taste this boy.

"I accept your bargain."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"So, how does this work?"

"As you surrender your light to me, your father's will be returned to him."

"Ok. You're not gonna double cross me are you?"

"I will not betray a bargain. I live by ancient laws."

"Laws? Cos usually you just find someone and take 'em."

"I take one light at a time. If you grant me your light, I no longer require his."

"Usually it's only four a year, but you only took Mr Cotton last week."

The Dothro drew itself up and its shimmering aura of power pulsed angrily, "I would not have taken another for three months had not your father attacked me. You dare question my honour, child? I have lived for millennia. My power is beyond your comprehension."

Dean raised his hands in a mollifying gesture, "Fair enough. Ok. What do I do?"

It shook its head as though exasperated with him. He was kind of proud of himself to have exasperated a millennia old killing machine.

"You come to me."

Dean was as scared as he'd ever been in his life, but he trusted that the Dothro was telling the truth. He was optimistic that the sigil would work. Well maybe hopeful was a more accurate work; but he was pretty sure that whatever happened to him, at least his Dad would be ok. He was ready to do this. And it was only human for his feet to be trying to tell him they shouldn't be walking forward; they should be running as fast as they could in the opposite direction.

He stopped in front of the Dothro and swallowed his fear. If he was going down today, he was going down defiant with his head up and his eyes open. The Dothro thought this was surrender, but it was wrong. He was here to fight, and he was John Winchester's son, so he aimed to win.

It reached out a clawed hand and cupped his shoulder in what it appeared to consider a gesture of affection or maybe comfort. Creepy son of a bitch. Dean fought not to shudder. The Dothro's power drew in and honed its point of focus and then he felt a stabbing, tearing pain in his heart, his knees folded and suddenly he was on the ground, the Dothro's hand at his back, holding him up so that the beam of light was pulled to its own heart.

Instinctively he raised his arm and grasped at the Dothro's shoulder, he couldn't help but try to stop the pain, but he knew he couldn't struggle; he had to give this willingly. And then he couldn't struggle, his strength was draining so fast. His hand wouldn't grip and his arm fell limp to the ground. He couldn't even hold his head up.

He knew Pastor Jim was repeating the second half of the recitation; the sigil on his chest should be working, his inner light passing through it and taking its power deep into the Dothro. The extra symbols of the eagle and the spiral of life and the fir and beech tree essences should help him keep enough of his light back that he could survive this.

God he hoped this worked. He really didn't want to die.

###

John's awareness returned; his limbs heavy and sluggish. What the hell had happened? He sorted through his memories. He remembered confronting the Dothro. He remembered the silver bullet just melting as it made contact with its skin, and then he was somehow on the ground, the creature poised over him and he was weak with encroaching lethargy, and then nothing.

Unease entered his heart. What was wrong? The boys were ok when he went down. Shit, the boys had been with him! Where were his boys? If John had been incapacitated, they wouldn't be far away unless... He opened heavy eyelids, almost blinded by bright early morning sunshine. He shook off the lingering weakness and sat upright.

"Dean! Sammy!"

"Dad!" Sam was sitting rigid on the bed, secured to the bed post with handcuffs. He yanked his wrists in frustration.

John snatched up the gun from the bedside table, habit to be armed when he wasn't sure what was going on.

"Sam, what the hell? How did we get back here? Where's Dean?"

"Dad, you've gotta stop him! Dean, you have to help him, now!"

"What's going on? Where's Dean?" John was panicking now. He reached for Sam's restrained hands.

"No, there's no time! You have to go now. He's outside with Pastor Jim. The Dothro is _here_ Dad, Dean summoned it! He went to face it."

John felt the blood drain from his face. "Why would he do that?"

"To save you! Dad, you have to help him."

John's limbs finally understood the urgency and reacted according to their long years of training and experience. He nodded and rose from the bed, sprinted down the hall and flew down the stairs. He tore open the back door and his mouth dropped open in horror at the sight in front of him.

###

The Dothro was poised over Dean, a long, silver, sinewy arm holding his torso off the ground as a beam of beautiful, yellow light like morning sunshine passed out of the boy's chest above his heart and into to the ancient beast. Dean blinked slowly; he was still conscious, but he wasn't struggling, his arms limp, fingers curled loosely on the ground and his head slumped back.

Reason left him and he simply launched himself forward, aiming to wrestle the creature to the ground and break its neck for daring to touch his son. Its strength could be nothing to that of a desperate father.

He was four feet from his son when he slammed into thin air and fell to the ground, stupid with shock. He shook his head, trying to clear it, to understand what the hell just happened. He scrambled to his feet and tried again to move forward, but his way was barred by an invisible force, as unyielding as a brick wall.

He pushed it, punched it but there was no give, he could not break through. He felt along it, following it all the way around. It surrounded Dean and the creature that fed from him.

"You let my son go, you son of a bitch, or I swear to God, I'll tear your heart out!"

"John." The pastor stepped forward. His voice was low, barely a whisper and shocked John to his core. Jim was witnessing this and doing nothing to stop it? He had let this happen?

Jim faced away from the circle, trying to draw John back, knowing it was vital the creature not realise Dean's true intentions, "There is no way through for us, John; not until it's over. But Dean is fighting."

"What..." He was speechless.

Sympathy in his expression, Jim added, "Dean has the power to destroy this evil."

John looked back at Dean, lying almost lifeless in the creature's grasp. It would have been funny if it wasn't so horrific, "Power? It's draining him. It's killing him!"

The Dothro finally tore its burning eyes from Dean and looked at him. He'd faced it last time with professional detachment, the usual fear born of respect for a creature of power and evil, but this time the creature's gaze turned his blood to ice water.

"Such a beautiful boy. So pure of heart. So filled with love and devotion and loyalty. So many good intentions, so _delicious_," the creature's tone was soft, adoring, belying the horror of its actions. For a moment it watched John, weighing the effect of its words, enjoying his agony, and then its attention was drawn irresistibly back to Dean.

John stood rooted to the spot, powerless to help his son. He raised a fist and pounded impotently on the solid air before him. Dean was going to die in front of him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He turned to Jim beside him, seeing only a target for his frustration and terror, "You _let_ him come out here, Jim? He dies and I'm gonna rip you apart!"

Jim kept his voice as low as possible, "John, have faith in your son. The Dothro is right. Dean is pure. He _is_ filled with love and loyalty. He's your son and he's doing this to save your life and all the others it will kill in the future. He won't fail."

John shook his head in denial, but the pastor laid a hand on his arm, and spoke with passion, "He _can_ stop it. John, he is strong. Already he's given enough to revive you."

"I don't care about my life! It's killing him!"

"He is doing what you trained him to do. Protecting his family. I've done what I can to help him."

"What? This is _your_ plan?" Rage and incomprehension warred for supremacy in his heart.

"Actually, the plan is Dean's, but I agreed to follow it."

"Why aren't _you_ fighting it? He's just a boy!"

Jim pulled his friend back, John resisting furiously, "John, listen to me," he whispered, "We must not jeopardise this, it must not hear!"

John stopped fighting him. Resisting every instinct, he allowed himself to be drawn back from the barrier.

"I would have fought in his place John, you know that, but I could not. The ritual, John, remember? It had to be someone pure." Jim refrained from pointing out a second time that John himself had brought Dean into the hunt, had trained him for a life of sacrifice. There would be time for that later.

The ritual? Even if there was someone could do it...It was impossible, suicide!

"He summoned it to the circle and I recited the binding for the transfer of the poisoned light. The completion of the recitation created this barrier. I hadn't anticipated that. You know the wording was vague."

No kidding it was vague. Wait a minute, "Pure? You mean... Dean's not, I mean, he's a red-blooded seventeen-year-old..."

"It never meant that. Pure in heart, John. He has never killed out of anything other than a desire to protect. He's never killed from rage or vengeance. He's never killed a human."

"So because he's a good kid he gets to be a sacrifice while our stained souls watch from the sidelines and do nothing? He's not even armed!"

"I've helped him to prepare. It's up to him now, but he is not without weapons."

"What weapons?"

"The strength of his heart, John. His _soul_. And our prayers."

John scoffed at that last, what good had prayers ever done his family? But he looked back at his son. If there was a heart strong enough, generous enough to defeat this voracious creature it was Dean's. The boy had given so much to John's need already.

"Those boys are smart hunters, John. Dean had the idea to add protective elements to the sigil, and Sam came up with the strongest symbols just by instinct."

"Sam helped? He begged me to stop Dean."

"When he realised the risk. None of wants to lose Dean."

Tears pricked his eyes and he moved back to the barrier, laying his hands flat against the invisible wall. He willed Dean to hold on, to stay with him and Sammy. His heart pounded wildly, and he found it hard to breathe. Dean was so pale, his face expressionless as the light continued to pour from him, draining him of energy, of his essence.

The Dothro cupped Dean's head in its long, graceful fingers, lifted it gently so that it could look at his face, its expression blissful, almost cherishing. John wanted to vomit at the sight. It was killing Dean and yet looking at him almost like a mother might her child.

"Jim," he whispered an entreaty to the pastor to do something, say anything to make this stop, to get him to his son's side so that he could tear that creature to pieces before it was too late. So that he could transfer his own strength to Dean and keep him alive.

"Be patient, John. He can do this."

The Dothro turned its head and sought eye contact with John once more, its words chilling him to the bone, "A willing sacrifice is so much sweeter. I gladly surrendered your light in exchange for his. But I had no idea of the value of the gift I was receiving. Your light is dim and pale. It tasted bitter and dry. It would scarcely have sustained me until my next meal. I barely had the appetite to even finish it. This boy is innocent, selfless and brave. He is a feast."

Dean's body arched in a sudden convulsion, and then again, the second weaker than the first. John gasped in horror, only able to watch as his son's eyes drifted closed and the beam of light seemed to fade.

"Oh God, Dean..." he whispered. He glanced at Jim, whose head was bowed, lips moving in prayer. His eyes moved back to Dean. His light was pale now, and Dean was so still.

"Dean!" He shouted, desperation robbing him of control. He couldn't lose Dean. He wouldn't survive that. He punched and kicked at the barrier, slamming his body against it again and again.

The Dothro's silvery skin shone more brightly and it raised its eyes to the sky, its look of ecstasy obscene to the frantic father looking powerlessly on. Then its expression shifted, and it lowered its head slowly as rapture was replaced by a look of confusion and then dawning comprehension. It regarded Dean, lying limp and helpless in its grasp, with something like respect. It slipped its hand from behind his head, allowing it to drop back and raised its claw as though to slash at Dean's exposed chest, to deliver the killing blow, and John fell still, not even breathing.

As the claw descended, the creature jerked violently, almost as Dean had a moment ago, its face twisting in pain, and instead of plunging into Dean's chest, the elongated hand clutched at its owner's chest in a desperate and futile attempt to block the remaining light from entering its heart. It jerked again and allowed Dean's body to fall back to the ground as its other hand covered the first.

Its red eyes burned hotter and it curled in on itself, diminished and finally John felt the barrier fall as its power failed.

He surged forward, raising his gun instinctively, though it had not worked before, but before he could pull the trigger, the red fire of the Dothro's eyes spilled out and brightened and amplified and suddenly John was engulfed in an explosion of pure energy that lifted him off his feet and threw him to the ground.

###

**Gasp! Evil cliff hanger! Continues soon...**

**Reviews = ice cream, without the calories!**


	4. Ch 4: This one's gonna bruise

**A/N: Thank you all very much for reading, and for distracting me from work checking my story traffic every five minutes...**

**My chapter four title is that of a fantastic song by Beth Orton. If you've never listened to her, what have you been doing with your time? Go out and buy her album **_**Daybreaker**_** immediately, for goodness sake! Trust me, you can't live without it!**

**Disclaimer: Can't trust that Kripke. He never did come back, you know. I don't think he's going to let me have the boys for the summer after all. That rotten son of a bitch! **

**I actually did have a very weird dream about a week ago that I woke up from sure it would have been the basis of a great Supernatural fanfic. Sadly, as I was getting ready for work the plot drifted away from me... I do remember Dean was wearing a very natty and slightly flamboyant dress shirt and waistcoat combo, so it was definitely AU.**

**Then: Dean faced the Dothro really pretty sure he'd be able to save his Dad, but not all that sure at all that he'd survive the ritual himself. John woke to find the ritual in full swing, and discovered that not only had Pastor Jim not stopped Dean, he had actually helped him to carry out his cockamamie plan. Unable to penetrate an invisible barrier, John could only watch as the creature sucked the life out of Dean. Just as the barrier fell and John tried to get to Dean, the creature exploded in a blast of light and energy...**

**Now:**

**###**

**He Shines With Your Light**

**Chapter Four: This one's gonna bruise**

The impact winded John and he coughed weakly, trying to force his body to respond. His only thought was for Dean, who'd been at the centre of the blast, already gravely weakened; maybe... he couldn't even finish that thought in his head.

He found strength from somewhere, rolled over, and crawled to Dean's side.

John reached out, laid his hand over Dean's heart as though he could somehow hold in the light that had already been stolen from his son. No, not stolen: that his son had given freely, for him. John sobbed and curled over Dean, pulling him up into his arms. He could feel no breath, no heartbeat. Dean's skin was translucent, his lips blue. He was gone.

"Oh God, John I'm so sorry. I believed he would be able to defeat it before it took everything from him." Jim's voice was filled with horror, but also resignation.

"NO! No, he's not gone, he's fighting. You said he was fighting! Jim, help me!" John felt the adrenaline kick hard and he crushed Dean to his chest.

"Dean, listen to me. You fight this. You stay with me, you hear?" He shook the limp boy slightly. "Dean, hold on. I'm not letting you go. I need you. Sammy needs you!"

He looked to Jim, his eyes wild, "Jim, please! Tell me he's not gone!"

Jim knelt facing John, Dean between them, slumped lifeless against his father's chest. Sick inside, and expecting to feel nothing but emptiness, Jim reached out a hand and laid it over Dean's heart. He was still warm, not just with his body's heat, but with something else, some faint trace of himself; that light that made him such an extraordinary person, the heart that kept his family together.

"There's something, John. I don't know if it's enough but he fought hard enough to keep something of himself inside."

"Get the first aid kit, and get Sam, now!"

"Sam shouldn't see this," Jim protested.

"Get Sam now!" John's growl brooked no opposition and Jim relented, understanding that he had no authority to deny his friend.

John cradled Dean's head gently and lowered him back to the hard ground. He tilted Dean's head back and pinched his nose, quickly giving two breaths, watching as Dean's chest rose and fell with each, then he laced his fingers together over his son's breast bone and pressed down hard, falling into the rhythm of his own heartbeat, thirty compressions, then two breaths. He heard footsteps and Sam's whispered denial and looked up to see the white, shocked face. Jim was right, Sam shouldn't see this, but there was no choice. John would do whatever was necessary to save his son, and Sam would expect to do nothing less.

###

"Sam, get over here. Take your brother's hand. Talk to him, keep him here, help him fight."

Sam nodded and fell to his knees on Dean's other side, snatching up his brother's hand and pressing it hard against his own heart.

John gave two more breaths and continued compressions. He spoke to Jim without being able to look away from Dean. "Jim, there's adrenaline in there."

"Should we call an ambulance?"

"This isn't a natural injury. Do you think a doctor can help him?" It was an honest question and John tore his eyes from Dean for a moment to judge the honesty of his friend's response.

Jim sighed and shook his head reluctantly, "No. I think Dean needs his family to bring him back."

He pulled the syringe full of adrenaline from the kit and bowed his head over it.

"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded impatiently.

"Sanctifying it. Making it holy water. It can't hurt."

John nodded tightly, "Just hurry!"

Jim raced through the words as John tore open Dean's t-shirt. John completed two more breaths, and then took the syringe in his trembling but determined hand, flipping the cap off and exposing the needle. The force of the compressions had already left an angry red bruise in the centre of Dean's chest, and John winced at the damage he himself was causing.

John didn't allow himself to think about what he was doing, he just brought the needle down and pushed hard through the space between Dean's ribs, wincing and swallowing nausea as the needle broke through the initial resistance and then slid more easily into the softer tissue of his heart.

He heard Sam's gasp of shock and lifted his eyes briefly to offer reassurance, but his youngest, though pale and sweaty with stress, didn't look up; still held tight to his brother's hand and had placed his other hand on Dean's belly to offer more comfort. Sam was scared, but he was a tough kid and he for damn certain wasn't going to fall apart while his brother needed him.

John pressed the plunger to administer the blessed drug then pulled the needle free and dropped it on the ground. He bent to breathe for Dean again and then rose for another round of compressions.

"John, do you need me to take over?" Jim offered, anxious to be of assistance but wary of interfering.

"No." He was getting tired but he knew it had to be him. This was about helping Dean to find strength to keep fighting, and Dean fought for his family. It had to be him and Sam.

He bent again and listened and watched, but Dean's chest remained still. He breathed again, watched the rise and fall and went back to compressions. His heart skipped a beat when he felt a rib give and then snap under the pressure, but he knew that was a risk with CPR; he knew he had to keep going.

It would be another reason for Dean to wake up, so he could give his Dad a hard time about breaking his rib.

The world around him was drowned out, dark; his two sons the only light at the centre of a chiaroscuro. He focused on Sam's words, encouraging, pleading, demanding.

"...can do this Dean, come on you jerk, you better wake up already, or Dad's gonna kick your ass. You need to breathe now or Dad's gonna kiss you again, and I'm gonna tell Maria Tucci that Dad kissed you and you liked it so much you don't wanna go to the movies with her anymore. Come on Dean, wake up, you have to wake up now, man, you can do this. We need you dude, who's gonna make us puke if you're not there with your disgusting table manners? Who's gonna give Donnie Baker a shiner to match mine? Who's gonna kick Brian Dooley's ass when he gives me a hard time about my crappy sneakers? That's your job, dude. Dean, please, come on man, I need you. Come on! Fight harder, you wuss! You gonna let some creepy sewer dwelling soft voiced silvery looking freak take you down without even taking a swing? I thought you were tough! Dean, you jerk, you gonna just lie there and let me insult you? Come on and make me..."

John checked his watch. He'd been going for twenty seven minutes. He was sweating and his shoulders were knotted with cramp but he kept going, there was no way he was giving up.

"Jim, more adrenaline."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Now, Jim. We're not gonna lose him." He put all his determination into his voice. He had to believe it so that Dean would.

John plunged the second syringe of sanctified adrenaline into Dean's heart and continued CPR. Sam was still talking but his voice was broken with emotion and John felt tears on his own cheeks.

"Dean? It's Sammy, please, can you hear me? Please let me know you can hear me? Dean, please don't leave me. Dean, stay with me. I need you, man. I love you."

John bent low to breathe for Dean, two more quick breaths, infused with all his faith in his son and all his love. He stayed low and whispered in Dean's ear, "Son, I can't do this without you. I love you. Please stay with me."

He rose again, back cracking with tension and went for another set of compressions. He didn't know how much longer he should keep going. If Dean had a chance, he'd force himself to continue for as long as it took, but if he was gone, was John just causing more damage to a body already exhausted beyond its limits?

Breathing, compressions, breathing... Thirty one minutes... On and on. He counted thirty and sank down again, stroking Dean's forehead as he tilted to open his airway. He listened in vain once again, and then gave the first breath, watching the gentle rise and fall. As he went to give the second, he felt something, a slight movement of air on his cheek and he waited, watching with bated breath for another sign to confirm the first. Dean's chest rose very slightly and then he felt a second tickle of breath on his cheek and hope leaped within him.

"Yes, yes, that's it, come on Dean, you can do it!" John checked the pulse in Dean's neck, finally finding a beat, weak and slow, but regular. He rested his hand on Dean's cheek and felt the next shallow breath against his wrist, and then the next a few seconds later.

"Dean? Can you hear me?" Sam's voice was shaky, hesitant.

"Dean, time to wake up buddy, can you open your eyes?" Dean wasn't waking up. John felt another breath, but it was still too shallow. He was still so pale, the skin under his eyes dark and bruised looking. The next breath was a long time coming and John felt his confidence waning. He checked for a pulse again, keeping his fingers there, monitoring. The beat remained steady, but very slow.

"Come on Dean, keep breathing, come on!"

"Dad?"

"Sammy, hold on tight, keep talking to him. He's fighting. Give him something to hold on to."

"Dean, breathe!" John kept his chin lifted; keeping his airway clear, but Dean was fading again, his lips bluing from lack of oxygen. John leaned closer and gave another breath, hoping Dean just needed some support while he regained his strength. He could still feel the pulse, there was still hope.

He gave a few more breaths until the blue faded then straightened a little, giving Dean the chance to take over. His chest rose and fell unaided for half a minute and then slowed and shallowed again.

John couldn't hold back his tears for his boy. Dean was beyond exhausted, fighting back from the brink of death, fighting for every breath when every other victim had just given up and died. But Dean's heart was beating again. Whether it was for himself of for his father and brother, he wanted to live, he wanted to stay.

John gave him more air. His knees were aching from kneeling on the hard earth. His back and shoulders were killing him, and he was still feeling the effects of the Dothro's attack, but that was just background noise. His focus was all for Dean.

###

He was breathing again, just, but still unresponsive. Sam was still talking, a never ending stream of comments, questions, insults and endearments, anything to keep Dean's attention in the here and now.

"Jim. What do we do?"

Jim shook his head, at a loss. He hadn't expected the CPR to work after so long, but the boy's will to live was impressive. Jim had decent first aid skills, like John but this was a way beyond his experience and expertise. They needed help. He couldn't imagine a hospital would know what to do anymore than they did, but having the boy on oxygen and properly monitored couldn't hurt, and then maybe they could figure out the next step. Maybe there was someone who could help.

"Let's get him inside. I know someone, a doctor who knows the life. He'll come here and he'll be discreet."

John nodded. In spite of the day's events, about which he would be having words with Jim as soon as Dean was on the mend; he did trust Jim as a hunter.

He checked Dean's heart rate and breathing again, still weak, but still there, and went to stand. He nearly keeled over in the attempt. He hadn't realised how much the last hour (had it been only an hour?) had taken out of him. He tried again, more gingerly this time, and managed to make it to his feet. He crouched down and slid his arms under Dean's shoulders and lifted him to his chest, Jim taking his legs. Sam didn't let go of his brother's hand until he had to at the doorway, then immediately took it again as soon as Dean was lying in his bed.

###

John sat on the bed at Dean's hip, studying him, watching for any change in his breathing, any flicker of returning awareness. He was holding on but he wasn't waking up. Jim had gone to call his friend and the room was quiet.

"Dad? Is he gonna be ok?"

"Yes, Sammy he's gonna be fine." He wasn't nearly as sure as he sounded but he wouldn't risk voiced doubts affecting the outcome. He stroked Dean's short hair back off his forehead gently. It was only when Dean was sick that he felt comfortable with such caresses.

Awake and well, Dean was so independent and self-possessed. The most he dared usually was the occasional pat on the back or one arm shoulder hug for a job well done. Any more than that and Dean would look at him suspiciously, as though he felt John thought him soft or incapable. How had that happened? It couldn't be further from the truth.

The truth was he couldn't be prouder of Dean. Not if he was elected President. He wasn't kidding or humouring Dean when he'd told him he couldn't do this without him. Dean's back up, his unstinting support, his quiet affection and loud sense of humour, not to mention his care and protection of Sammy, had kept John sane all these years when he could so easily have lost himself in the bottle and recklessly got himself gutted in a backwoods hunt or a drunken bar fight.

He wished he could say those things to Dean when he was awake, but when those soft green eyes were looking at him, wide with sadness or dancing with laughter or serious and focused on the hunt, somehow the words wouldn't come.

But today, Dean had saved his life. Not only that, he'd been willing to die to do it. He'd killed a creature that had stolen countless lives over countless centuries, leaving empty husks to fade away.

That creature had taken John down without breaking a sweat. He hadn't been prepared for the fight, hadn't researched well enough, and that was on him, but the truth was, no matter how well armed with information he'd been, he would have lost that battle. The Dothro was right: he didn't have the heart for it. But his boy did. He wasn't the best father, and Dean had raised himself as much as John had raised him, probably more so if he was honest, but John had met and married Mary, he'd seen her value, and she'd given Dean his generous heart. John had that to be proud of.

When Dean woke up, _when_ he did, John would force the words out. He'd tell Dean this time.

Dean was struggling again. His breathing was far too shallow and more uneven, like he was too tired to keep going. Sam shifted onto the bed, cross legged facing his brother, hands still joined and started up another rambling monologue. John couldn't say how he knew, but somehow he did, that it was helping. Dean could never ignore Sam, would listen patiently to his stories of school and homework and friends; his jokes and his worries when other big brothers would've given their younger siblings a wedgie and ditched them in favour of friends and girlfriends. That he was unconscious didn't seem to change that.

John grabbed the pillows from Sam's bed and, lifting Dean a little tucked them underneath his head in the hope the raised position would make it easier for him to breathe. Where the hell were Jim and this friend of his? John debated whether to keep waiting or to just get Dean to a hospital. He didn't care what questions they asked as long as they kept his son alive.

###

He was on the verge of calling an ambulance when he finally heard footsteps on the floorboards of the corridor and he turned as the door opened and Jim ushered a second man into the room.

The man was young, probably late twenties and looked more like a hunter than a doctor; pale and unshaven, badly cut too long hair, torn and faded jeans and a plaid shirt with a dubious looking stain on the hem. Frankly the guy looked pretty dishevelled for a hunter, let alone a doctor and John was loath to allow him any closer to his son.

"John Winchester? Heard a lot about you. I'm Ryan Edgely." The young man repositioned a heavy looking bag over his shoulder and offered a hand.

John looked sourly at the hand and made no move to accept it, "No offence, kid but I haven't heard shit about you. What are your credentials?"

Edgely raised an eyebrow and looked past John to see Dean lying behind him, noting his pale, bluish skin, "How about we get your boy on some oxygen, then we can look at my academic records."

He strode into the room, unruffled by John's unwelcoming attitude, and dropped his bag by the bed, unzipping it and pulling out a stethoscope, blood pressure meter, oxygen canister and mask, dropping each item on the nightstand.

"Ok Dean, I'm Ryan. I'm here to help. It sounds like you're having some trouble breathing there, so I'm gonna put an oxygen mask on you to help with that," He quickly had the mask in place.

He sat on the edge of the bed and fitted his stethoscope to his ears, "This'll be a little cold Dean. I just need to listen to your heart and lungs." He moved the stethoscope over Dean's chest. "Heart beat's slower than I'd like but it's regular. Breathing's shallow and erratic but the oxygen will help with that until it improves." He wrote the stats down in a notebook he fished from his breast pocket, and then pulled a penlight out of the same pocket.

"Ok, Dean, I'm gonna shine a light in your eyes now. Feel free to wake up and stop me." He lifted Dean's eyelids in turn and flashed the light in and then away from each eye, "Pupil response is normal. That's something."

He met Sam's eyes across the bed, "You're Dean's brother, Sam, right?"

"Yeah. Dean calls me Sammy," Sam found himself instantly at ease with the doctor's manner. That he cared to talk to Dean and let him know what was going on even if he wasn't awake scored him major points in Sam's book. Half the doctors they saw barely spoke to them when they were awake.

"Ok, so I'll call you Sammy in front of Dean then. Glad to meet you."

"It hit him too, the monster. It threw him into the wall when he tried to get it away from Dad. He nearly passed out," Sam offered, his voice small.

John looked up in alarm; he hadn't even known Dean had been hurt in the tunnel.

"Ok, thanks Sammy, I'll check him for injuries."

Without quite realising how it had happened, John found himself shuffling down the bed to sit at Dean's feet, allowing the doctor room to work.

Edgely put a blood pressure cuff around Dean's biceps and pumped it up with one hand while positioning his stethoscope on the inside of his elbow. He released the air and marked the reading in the notebook. "75 over 55. Not great, Dean, but we'll keep an eye on it."

"You performed CPR."

John nodded, "Yeah."

"How long?"

"Thirty eight minutes. And he hasn't been breathing right since, like he's too tired and he can't keep it up. I still had to give some rescue breaths after we got him back."

Edgely nodded and sniffed, "And you gave adrenaline."

"Two shots, yes."

"Straight into his heart?"

"That's right."

Edgely scratched his cheek with a forefinger, "That's...unconventional. Still, I guess if it worked."

John's belligerence abandoned him and he found himself unable to meet the younger man's eye. Should he not have done that? Should he have called an ambulance right away? "I broke a rib," he admitted faintly.

"Happens. No sign of haemothorax. I'm not worried about that. How long since you got him back?"

"About half an hour now. I'm still worried about his breathing."

"Yeah. He's still struggling with that, but the oxygen's staved off the cyanosis for now."

Edgely turned back to Dean and raised his voice a little, "Dean? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" Not getting a response, he slipped his hand into Dean's, "Dean, Sammy and I are holding your hands. I want you to squeeze our hands if you can hear me." He raised his head and made eye contact with Sam. "You feel anything?"

Sam shook his head, "No."

He slipped his hand out of Dean's and rubbed his knuckle hard along his sternum, "Dean? You wanna wake up now and stop me doing this?" Dean didn't respond to that or the hard pinch to his trapezium muscle.

"Is he gonna wake up?"

"I can't promise, but we're gonna do everything we can to make sure he does."

Edgely pinched Dean's finger tip, examining the nail bed, then addressed Sam again, "Where was he injured?"

"His back. I think he hit his head too. He was mostly winded, but he was dazed at first and I think he was trying not to hurl."

Edgely warned Dean again as he moved him to check for damage, first feeling for the bump on his head, "Ok, little bit of a goose egg there, but better the bruising's outside than inside. He's not cut and there's no evidence of brain injury from his pupil reaction."

He took a quick look at the Dothro hand shaped bruise on Dean's side, then rolled him onto his side to get a look at his back, wincing at the sight, "Some pretty deep bruising, but nothing's obviously broken and I can't feel the sort of swelling that would indicate internal damage. I think you're right, Sammy, just winded and little dazed. I'm gonna keep him on his side for a bit just in case he changes his mind about hurling. It'll help him keep his airway open too."

"The pastor filled me in on what went down on the way over. Can't say as a scientist I'm all that familiar with the concept of inner light, but you learn pretty fast when you get pulled into this life. I can understand you not figuring a hospital would be all that useful under the circumstances, but he was in cardiac arrest and his breathing and blood pressure still aren't great, so I'll be keeping a real close eye on him and I'm gonna pull rank if he starts going downhill."

John found himself trusting Edgely in spite of himself. He'd still want to hear about those credentials at some point though.

"If you say he needs a hospital, we're going to a hospital."

"Ok then. I'm gonna set up some fluids. He's looking anaemic, so I'm gonna give some iron by IV too."

"Then what?"

"Then we wait. I'm no expert, but my guess is a guy'd need a lot of rest to get over having most of his inner light drained out by an ancient evil. I'll take care of the medical stuff and you guys do whatever you usually do in this sort of situation."

John gave an incredulous huff, "Whatever we usually do?"

Edgely nodded, "Yeah, supernatural injuries, supernatural treatments."

"We've been talking to him. Jim blessed the adrenaline, but we're flying blind here. As far as we can tell, no one's ever survived a Dothro attack before."

"I thought you did."

John reddened, reluctant to admit what had led to Dean's attack, reluctant to expose his poor judgement on the hunt as much as his bad parenting. But the guy would find out anyway if he was going to hang around for a while, "The Dothro reversed what it did to me when it took Dean."

"Oh right... Ok... Well... talking to him can't hurt. I'd suggest that with any unconscious patient." He turned to Jim, "You wanna bless the IV fluids too?"

Jim nodded and pulled out his rosary.

###

When the doctor had finished writing down everything he'd observed and everything he'd done for Dean, John stood and spoke up, "Ok Doc, how about you and I step outside and have a chat about how you come to be someone who does discreet house calls and writes up patient charts in a reporters' notebook?"

Edgely gave a wry half smile, "I'm happy to answer your questions John, but let's look at this room as an unofficial ICU. Not leaving my patient right now."

John sat back down abruptly. The doctor's calm ministrations had put him at ease to the point where he was starting to assume it was just a matter of time before Dean woke up and started cracking jokes. It was a bad habit of his to always assume Dean would be ok. He recognised the paradox; that he spent so much time worrying about where the next supernatural threat would come from.

"Right, of course. Go ahead then. Let's hear it."

Edgely met John's gaze with an assessing look of his own and then looked away, nervously rubbing his neck. It was the first hint that the young man was anything other than totally at ease in the world.

"I was an ER resident until sixteen months ago. Until my fiancée was killed. It was a werewolf. The pastor here killed it; saved my life. But Janey...she died in my arms. I guess you don't really come back from that. I couldn't just go back to the ER anyway. You know, pretend to believe it was a dog or a wild animal or something. Wasn't up for making other people feel comfortable about what happened to the love of my life, you know? So Jim showed me the ropes a little and now I'm hunting and patching up hunters on the side."

"I'm sorry about your fiancée."

"Yeah. Well, I guess none of us is here just for kicks."

"No kidding."

###

The four of them sat vigil. Periodically Edgely would repeat his checks and make notes in his book, and the others would look at him hopefully. He didn't want to keep telling them "No change," but it was sure better than the alternative right now. Dean's blood pressure was a little better from the fluids, and considering the pounding he'd taken from the CPR and those hits of adrenaline to the heart, his pulse was pretty steady, if still slower than he'd like. He'd had Dean on 100% oxygen for six hours now, and he was still fighting to pull in those frighteningly shallow breaths. And he was still totally unresponsive. Whatever that creature did to him, he wasn't getting up of the mat any time soon.

And yet, they all seemed to think the kid was just going to wake up and start entertaining them or wiping their asses for them or something. They none of them seemed to know what to do with themselves without him. Only Sammy spoke, and only to Dean. John didn't take his eyes off the unconscious boy, but Edgely kind of hoped Dean didn't wake up until he'd got whatever it was out of his system, because John's glowering expression was enough to curdle milk. He sure wouldn't want that to be his first sight when waking from a fight for his life. And Pastor Jim, who'd been such a steady, reassuring presence over the last heartbreaking, confusing, terrifying year? Holding his bible, but staring blankly into space, the man looked somehow lost, guilty and rudderless.

"You think I could get a sandwich or something?" Edgely wondered aloud, not really sure who, if anyone would respond. He figured they could all use something though.

John and Sam snapped to attention like marionettes brought back to life by an unexpected yank on their strings. The pastor blinked as though coming out of a trance, "Right, of course. Yes. I'll make something to eat." He sat for a few moments, indecisively, then stood, tucking his bible in his jacket pocket and walking unsteadily to the door.

John too seemed to need a long time to consider his next move, and then he too stood, following the pastor after pausing to place a surprisingly gentle hand on his son's forehead.

Sam watched the two men leave and then turned back to his brother. "Hey Dean, Dad and Pastor Jim just went to make some sandwiches. You hungry, man? You must be starving. You've been sleeping for hours now..." He tailed off then sought eye contact with the doctor.

"Dean takes care of us. Dad doesn't know what to do when he's sick," He observed sadly. "It's not fair 'cos Dean takes really good care of Dad when he's sick." He paused and then continued, guiltily. "I don't know what to do either. I should have tried harder to stop him."

Edgely felt a little ashamed at his uncharitable thoughts. He didn't know this family's story. Janey's death had hit him hard. He wasn't exactly firing on all emotional cylinders these days. And this kid, what, twelve, thirteen years old? He was trying so hard to hold it together, knowing he might well lose his brother, who seemed to be the centre of his life.

"How could you have tried harder, Sammy?" He'd already heard Sam half-heartedly tell his brother off for handcuffing him when he'd tried to stop him from going after the monster. Obviously too scared to tear him a real strip in case it did some sort of damage, made Dean give up fighting because his brother was pissed at him or something dumb like that.

"I helped with the plan. But I should've thought it through. Maybe he wouldn't have gone through with it if I hadn't encouraged him. But I was scared for Dad and I thought, Dean's strong enough to carry Dad all that way out of the tunnel; he must be strong enough to do this. I didn't even think how that would've tired him out even before he started fighting the Dothro. I was stupid to think those half-assed protection symbols would be enough keep him safe."

"From what I hear your brother isn't an easy guy to convince when there's monsters to kill and people to save. Especially his family. Don't you think it was better he had those symbols than nothing at all."

"You think they made a difference? He might still die, mightn't he?"

"I can't lie to you Sam, he might. But he's hanging on." He checked his watch again, "I hear over seven hours is a pretty good showing after a Dothro attack. In fact, the Pastor said no one's ever made it out with anything left to fight with before. Like your Dad. He was definitely going to die, right?"

"Pastor Jim could feel his light was gone," Sam's heart lurched at the thought of his Dad lying there, just an empty shell waiting to die, and he was grateful he was back, of course he was, but not at the expense of Dean.

"When Dad gave him CPR, I thought it wasn't going to work. I thought Dean was gonna die right there on the ground and I wanted it to be the other way around. I wanted Dean to be ok. I know I'm a bad person, but all I could think was Dad took us on that hunt. Dean and me would never have even known what a Dothro was. If Dad wanted to fight it, he was the one should have paid the price." Sam flushed with shame, "I know I'm a bad person," he repeated in a whisper.

Edgely put a hand on the kid's shoulder, at a loss. What the hell did you say to something like that? Hell, yeah, the Dad should be the one taking the hit. He was pretty sure John would agree with that assessment wholeheartedly. But soothing words from a virtual stranger weren't going to solve anything. Still, who else was gonna say them?

"Sammy, that doesn't make you a bad person. It just means you love your brother. Look, I'm gonna tell you a secret about me. After my fiancée was killed, all I could think was how she didn't deserve to die and I looked at everyone else and measured them against her. If they'd been there, I thought, I'd have thrown them to the werewolf to save her. Every single person, including myself and Pastor Jim. So maybe I'm a bad person, but I think it's normal to feel that way."

"Is it normal for me to be angry with Dean for not protecting himself better?" His hand squeezed his brother's tighter on reflex at the traitorous thought.

Edgely sniffed, "I'd say so. I'd say when he's awake, he owes you big time for all this trouble, and for cuffing you to the bedpost for trying to be a good brother."

"Dean's a good brother," Sam assured him, large serious eyes meeting his, willing understanding.

"I know. Except for scaring the crap out of you today, though, right?"

"Yeah, except for that."

###

"Jim, we need to talk. Now." Jim led the way to his study. He was resigned to a confrontation and frankly, he was glad to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.

John stopped at the book case and didn't immediately turn around. Jim closed the door and took a seat in one of the easy chairs. He wouldn't try to make excuses and it was for John to open the discussion.

John's mind was in turmoil, there was so much wrong with this situation that he didn't know where to start. The pastor, the friend he'd trusted all these years, who he trusted to look out for the boys when he couldn't, had betrayed him. Had just stood by and let Dean face that evil son of a bitch alone. His heart was pounding with rage and disbelief and he couldn't stop his hands from shaking, even drawn into white knuckled fists.

"What the hell Jim? Dean's just a kid! I trusted you and this is what you do? I _trusted_ you!"

"John, I'm really not sure what you're angry about right now. You brought the boys on this hunt. You risk their lives every time you take them on a hunt. Now you say Dean is just a kid?"

"He's seventeen for Christ's sake! He doesn't hunt by himself, he hunts with me. He shouldn't have risked his life for me. You shouldn't have let him!"

"He's not an ordinary seventeen year old, John-"

John cut him off, his voice shaking with anger, "Yes he is! You're the one who said I shouldn't be putting this responsibility on his shoulders!"

"On his shoulders! John, he carried you three miles out of that tunnel!" Jim shook his head at the hypocrisy of the man, "I said that, yes, but that was years ago when you allowed a ten-year-old boy to believe he was responsible for harm done to his younger brother by a vicious and powerful shtriga when in reality it was _your_ failure to protect both boys that nearly led to tragedy!"

John opened his mouth to interrupt but Jim raised his voice, determined to make his point, "Yes, John! You made him responsible for your failure and you can't take it back now! That experience, along with so many others, shaped him. He's not some green rookie straight out of boot camp and I didn't _let_ him do anything. He _is_ seventeen years old and he's been doing this for years. He followed the research and he made his decision. I showed him the respect of backing him up."

"Respect!"

"Yes John, respect! Respect for a fellow hunter. You trained him for this life and now he is what you made him. He's a warrior, a hero. He saw you, his _father_, taken down by a supernatural enemy and he saw all the future victims and he could not walk away from that. He found a way to both save you and destroy that evil creature."

Jim sighed, "John, I tried to talk him out of it. Of course I did. But he never would have forgiven himself if he didn't try everything he could to save you. You know this John, my God you _know_ it!

"He's still my boy. Jim, he's still my child. Him and Sammy; they're why I do this. It's all to protect them."

Jim's voice became gentle, "I know. But I also know you understand that you and Sammy are why Dean does this."

"A son shouldn't die for his father. It's not right."

"Nothing in this fight is right. Evil will always be drawn to innocence. What it cannot corrupt it will try to destroy. But we do what we have to and we try to survive. Dean's strong. I have faith that he'll survive this."

John's anger deflated and he felt nothing but exhaustion and fear. He slumped into the other armchair and scrubbed his face with a shaky hand, "I wish I still had faith."

"Well I have it and so does Sam and maybe you don't need faith in God for this one, John; just faith in Dean and that obnoxious optimism of his. I hear Maria Tucci and her little shorts are more than enough reason to live."

John's huff of laughter was dangerously close to a sob of despair. Maybe it was both.

"How the hell did he carry me three miles?"

"Up that ladder too," Jim reminded him, shaking his head.

"Jim, I..."

"I know John. There's no need to say anything; we've known each other too many years. Just go be with your boys. I'll be here if you need anything."

###

**Continues soon...**

**Reviews more than welcome, in fact eagerly awaited, then pored over with glee! I'd love to hear what you think – good or bad...**


	5. Ch 5: Sun comes up, it's Tuesday morning

**A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews. I'm very grateful and it makes the writing so much more fun to know people are enjoying my story and waiting for the next instalment. **

**This chapter title is from the song by Cowboy Junkies. Margo Timmins has such a beautiful voice.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, checked and I still don't own Supernatural. Apart from the DVDs. I paid good money for them. And a couple of the books. Has anyone else read them? They suck! I read much better stuff by a lot of the fanfic writers on this site.**

**Then: Dean's kamikaze (Ninja?) plan to get his Dad's light back from the light thief Dothro worked in as much as it did save John's life. Unfortunately Dean was almost sucked dry and by the time John could get to him, he wasn't breathing and his heart had stopped. John and Sam got him back, but he's unconscious and still struggling to keep breathing. Will he have enough light left in him to hold on, and if he does, will he be the same Dean?**

**Now: **

**He Shines With Your Light**

**Chapter Five: Sun comes up, it's Tuesday morning**

The sandwiches were pretty crappy. Pastor Jim forgot to butter the bread and the cheese was all uneven so they were empty in some places and unpleasantly thick in others. There was no pickle or tomato so they were also really dry. Dean wasn't missing much, Sammy thought. Still, he ate them. Considering how worried he was, he was surprisingly hungry. But now they were sitting really heavy in his stomach and he kind of wished he'd gone without.

He tried to count back how long it had been since Dean ate anything. Eight and a half hours since he started breathing after the CPR. How long researching? Almost three hours; not long enough to come up with a better plan. Ten minutes in the car bringing Dad back. Before that over an hour's route march through the tunnels. Three miles was a long way carrying Dad's dead weight. Dean hadn't stopped once, but it had been slow going. And before that? How long had the confrontation lasted? How long had they walked the tunnels, looking for the demon? A few hours. That had been yesterday, in the evening. So it had to be like fifteen hours, maybe more, and Dean hadn't eaten much before they'd left, he'd been too pumped about getting started with the hunt.

How was Dean going to get better if he couldn't eat? Pastor Jim said he still had a little of his inner light left, but his energy had been all but exhausted. Surely Dean needed something more than whatever was in that IV bag the doctor had hooked up. But if he didn't wake up, how was he going to eat? It was a vicious circle.

###

Dean wasn't retaining his body heat. The doc had Pastor Jim bring some hot water bottles in, and Sam was huddled up in the bed next to his brother, hoping to give him some warmth and maybe some comfort; somehow let Dean know he was there.

Dean still hadn't moved. Not so much as a twitch or an eye movement to suggest he was even dreaming. His breathing was still off, too shallow and now and then slowing down too much as he tired.

One time the doctor had pulled out a mask and bag, ready to squeeze some air into him to help him keep going, but somehow Dean had found the strength to pick up the pace again and the equipment had been laid aside, but not put away.

He was still on the oxygen, and Sam watched the little puffs of air fogging the plastic of the mask every time Dean exhaled. Just enough to show him Dean was hanging on. The doctor was watching him like a hawk, his hand periodically hovering over the pocket where Sam could see the outline of a cell phone. Sam knew what that meant; that the doc was still thinking about calling an ambulance, getting Dean to a hospital. And that was scaring the crap out of Sam.

Sam had only let go of Dean long enough to go take a leak and that had been ninety seconds too long. Talk about nervous bladder. He'd been sure something would happen to Dean while he had his fly undone.

At first he'd felt self-conscious talking to Dean in front of the stranger. In front of Dad too, once the immediate crisis of the CPR was over. While his Dad had pounded away on Dean's chest he'd just said anything that came into his head and didn't care what Dad thought. Hell, he couldn't even remember most of it. Now he was over the weirdness. He didn't care who heard, because the crisis wasn't over, not until Dean woke up and told him to stop rambling and shut up.

Until that happened, Sam's job was to look out for his brother like Dean usually looked out for him. And Dean might have been Mr Tough Guy, suck it up and never say what you're feeling normally, but if Sammy needed it, he'd gush his feelings out in front of Dad, Stallone, Schwarzenegger, and the entire Marine corps, and then dare them to call him a wuss.

So Sammy talked about anything and everything. School, homework, the hunt. He rated TV shows, movies, motels and apartments they'd stayed in, burgers across the Midwest, Dean's girlfriends (for hotness and for niceness; Maria rated high on both scales), and really dumb things Dean had done to look out for his family. Number one with a bullet? Challenging a demon light thief to a death-match with brine his only weapon.

###

Sam snapped awake, his heart pounding and he cursed himself as he realised he'd dropped off. His eyes went to Dean and he sighed with relief when he saw the fogging on the oxygen mask. Dad was leaning with his elbows on the bed, his hand stroking Dean's hair back off his forehead and his head close to Dean's. His voice was low, but Sam could just hear him. He raised his eyes to acknowledge Sam, but he didn't stop talking,

"...and your mom felt a bit achy and she said she thought maybe today was the day, maybe it was starting, but it'd probably be a while, so we got on with dinner, then twenty minutes later I was doing the dishes and her waters broke. She wasn't scared, you know. She was like you, your mom. She wasn't scared of anything. She just grinned at me, all excited and told me you were on the way.

"So we got in the car and I was panicking, thought Jesus, what the hell am I gonna do with a baby? I was terrified. We'd had her bag in the trunk for days 'cos I knew I'd probably forget it otherwise. We got to the hospital in about ten minutes, and the contractions were already really close, and your mom was yelling and cussin'. My god, the mouth on that woman! Never heard anything like it even in the marines.

We got up to the maternity ward and they got her to lie down on the bed. All the other moms were laying there in hospital gowns and all their stuff laid out around them; settled in for the duration. The midwife came in and brought her a gown, but your mom said, 'I don't think I'm gonna need that' and so the midwife took a look and you were already crowning and she said to push, so your mom gave two big pushes and out you came, yelling the place down. It all happened in less than an hour. I guess you didn't want your mom suffering all that pain the other moms were going through.

"Some of those poor souls had been at it more than a day, crying and exhausted and the dads looked grey, like they'd been in a war.

"But you always looked out for everyone, right from the day you were born.

"The midwife put you on your mom's chest and they let me cut the cord. God she looked beautiful. She was shining, you know. She started singing _Hey Jude_ to you and you went quiet and just listened. She always sang that to you at bedtime, you remember?

"Then she put you in my arms, her smile was so proud. You remember her smile, don't you kiddo? You were so tiny, and all I could think was how big my hands were and how I might hurt you without even meaning to. You were all red and your face scrunched up like you were pissed at the world. Then you grabbed my finger, so tight and you opened your eyes and you looked at me and it was like you knew me. Like you had the measure of me. And I just felt my heart fill up with you. It was love and protectiveness and hope and I couldn't stop smiling. It was like being drunk on something I knew wouldn't give me a hangover.

"I showed you to everyone and when they said you were beautiful I just agreed with them. You're my brave, beautiful boy, Dean. You're a man now but you're still my little boy. I remember that day thinking I'd never let anything hurt you.

"I never imagined any of this. I never imagined you'd get hurt for me. I can't live with this, son. I can't live with you dying for me. I won't survive it, so if you wanna save my life, you gotta save yours too. You gotta gather all that strength I know you've got inside you and you hold on to me and Sammy. You hold on, you understand? You rest up, and then you're gonna open your eyes and look at me like you did the day you were born, 'cos I know you got the measure of me Dean. You know I rely on you to be strong and look out for us like you always have."

John leaned forward and kissed Dean's forehead and when he straightened Sam was shocked to see tears overflowing. Sam had never heard his Dad talking like this. He was enthralled by the story of Dean being born, of his mom and dad being so happy, becoming a family. It all sounded so normal, just like he'd always wanted.

Except Dean. Popped out of the womb ready to take on the world while the other babies were scared to come out and face it, hiding away like a bunch of...cry-babies. He guessed Dean couldn't be normal if his life depended on it.

He wondered what his birth had been like. He wondered if his Dad would tell him when all this was over and Dean was back on his feet.

Dad sniffed and wiped a hand over his eyes, trying to clear the traces of the tears, but when he looked up at Sam, his eyes were still full.

"Hey Sammy, you sleep ok?"

Sam nodded, "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"You needed it."

"How's Dean?"

"Same. Still hanging on."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Six hours."

"Six hours? And he's still no better?"

"He's made it longer than anyone else. Sam, I know it's hard to see him like this, but we have to keep faith. He's gonna make it."

"You were crying." He whispered the words, not sure if he should say them, how Dad would react to him calling out what he might think was weakness, but he needed to know what it meant. Did Dad really believe Dean would be ok?

"Yeah, Sammy. My boy's really sick. I'm not handling that very well. But you know Dean as well as I do. He's gonna shake this off. I just..." His face twisted with anguish and more tears fell.

"What, Dad?" Sam put his hand on his Dad's arm, comforting.

"I never want anything to happen to you boys. Dean shouldn't have done this. Me getting tagged by this demon I can handle... But Dean...it's unacceptable."

Dad's voice was thick with emotion, and Sam struggled to control his too, "I think that's what Dean felt when we saw you go down."

Dad made a sound half sob, half laugh, and it matched how Sam was feeling exactly. He still blamed his Dad. None of this would have happened if Dad didn't keep dragging them into these insane situations, believing against reason and against the evidence of experience that they would be protected just by his determination and sheer cussedness. But Dad was just one guy, taking them up against evil after evil. It was bound to catch up with them in the end.

But Dad upset like this, faced with his own failure, Sam couldn't stay angry with him. Somehow Dad showing weakness for once, saying how he really felt about Dean, it drained the resentment right out of Sam's heart and all he wanted to do was hug him.

**###**

The sun came up. Edgely wasn't sure what to do. Dean had been down for the count for twenty-four hours now. While his breathing was steadier now, he still couldn't stay warm without the heat packs and he was still totally unresponsive. Edgely rolled him onto his other side, to keep him from getting bedsores, and there was no reaction to the pain of being moved with a broken rib, no muscle tone, no resistance, just this boneless acquiescence.

He was starting to regret not having just gone ahead and called the paramedics the second he'd seen the state the kid was in. They couldn't keep him here like this indefinitely, Edgely couldn't stay indefinitely. Aside from anything else, he badly needed to sleep, and who was going to look out for Dean then?

John had finally dropped off, his head on the bed and his hand in Dean's. He didn't doubt the man's love for his son; it was coming off him in waves. But love didn't always equate to doing the right thing. He understood why they hadn't taken Dean to a hospital, but the longer they left it, the harder it would be to explain if they did have to take him, and loath as he was to admit it, that was looking increasingly likely.

He hated to think that Dean might not make it. He didn't know him, but he saw the love his family had for him, the combination of respect, protectiveness, devotion and awe that he inspired in both his father and brother, and he was in no doubt that Dean was an extraordinary person. When Pastor Jim had called asking for help, he hadn't said Dean was a boy not even out of high school, he'd said he needed help for an injured hunter. Jim, the seasoned hunter, viewed Dean as an equal.

He'd pieced together a hell of a story from what he'd overheard of what his family had been saying to Dean while he slept and Ryan realised that this seventeen year old kid was ten years younger than him, but had eleven years of experience on him. And this hunt, that had left him clinging to life by a thread, this was a fight he'd won. At terrible cost, but he had faced and killed the monster, saved his father's life. He'd saved countless lives the creature would have taken in the future, where other hunters had failed in the past. Ryan really wanted the chance to talk to him, get to know him a little.

Sammy was obviously exhausted; he wasn't talking anymore, looked kind of zoned out, but he kept his gaze on the oxygen mask and the short puffs of condensation that indicated Dean was still breathing, and he kept hold of Dean's hand, unwilling to remove the comfort, even if he didn't have the energy to keep up the monologue. This had to be tough on the kid. Thirteen years old, understanding about all this supernatural crap, and knowing that there was every chance he could lose his brother to it. He'd slept for some hours earlier, but it hadn't looked restful, frequent motion and sounds indicating terrible nightmares.

John woke with a start and like Sam had, he cursed himself for having slept when he felt he should be keeping watch. His fearful eyes sought his son and didn't relax until he'd assessed the situation and realised that nothing had changed while he'd been out. Then the look of anguish, because nothing had changed.

John met Edgely's eyes and only received confirmation, yes, no change. "How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours. Sun's up. Dean's still hanging on, but it's been twenty four hours now. If there's no change soon, we're going to have to think about getting him to a hospital." There was no point sugar coating it.

"You said if he deteriorated," John sounded accusing, like this was some sort of betrayal.

"I know, but this isn't sustainable, John. I'm tired. I'm gonna need to sleep. He should be in a hospital where he can be monitored properly, with staff on shifts, not one tired guy staying awake with caffeine. It's not safe."

John nodded, "Jim has a spare room. You sleep. I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna watch him."

"Not to mention, I can't do any blood work here. Who knows, there might actually be something I can treat. And this IV glucose isn't enough to keep him going. He should have a feeding tube. He hasn't eaten in, what thirty-six hours now? We can't let him get any weaker. John, I-"

"Please, just give him some more time. I know he can do this. I know he'll wake up soon. I can't explain to a hospital what happened and there'll be fallout for us." John's tone was earnest, there was no aggression in it, but still, Edgely wasn't sure if the 'us' included him. He figured John wouldn't be above much when it came to looking out for his family.

And even if John wasn't threatening him directly, he wasn't wrong. There could be repercussions not just for the Winchesters, but for him too. But he'd known when he started doing this work, fixing up hunters in backwoods cabins and the backrooms of seedy bars that this wasn't strictly what the medical ethics code had in mind. He wasn't worried about himself; this was about what was best for his patient.

Nevertheless, Edgely blew out a sigh, feeling cornered by his own decisions, "Ok, we'll keep going like this for now. I'm gonna take that nap, but you wake me if anything changes. And I mean _anything_."

"Believe me; I'm not taking any chances with my son's life. I won't hesitate to disturb your beauty sleep."

###

Jim took watch when John went for a shower. He'd defended himself when John had challenged him, but the truth was, the guilt was eating him alive. Watching Dean just lying there, so pale and still. He knew Dean was a peaceful sleeper, he'd drop off and barely move all night, but this was different. Dean looked hollowed out. He looked what he was: barely alive.

He'd put his hand out periodically and touch the centre of Dean's chest over his heart, checking that the spark of light he'd felt after the Dothro was destroyed was still there, checking if it was getting any stronger. Jim had no idea if it was possible for the stolen light to be renewed.

What if this was it? What if Dean just stayed like this until his body finally wasted away? Just like the others, only drawn out over days rather than hours.

What the hell had he been thinking, letting Dean do this? He should have tried harder to find another solution. He should have gone up against the Dothro himself, past revenge and dark deeds notwithstanding. How had he let Dean talk him into helping him sacrifice himself?

He couldn't get the image of Dean lying there in the Dothro's arms out of his head. The sight of that creature of filth and evil touching their boy had filled him with revulsion and horror.

But Dean had faced it with the same courage and straightforward determination that he did everything. It was so simple for him. The Dothro was evil so it had to die. His Dad was dying so he had to be saved. And Dean was responsible for his family, so it had to be him that made the sacrifice.

Jim had been praying constantly since it happened, but so far to no avail. He never admitted this to anyone, but it was times like this when he really questioned his faith. The God he tried to believe in, a father, a protector, a God of love and peace who cherished innocence, bravery and selfless devotion, how could a God like that not step in and help someone like Dean, who embodied those qualities that should be encouraged and strived for?

But the nagging doubt was there. This was also a God who allowed sacrifice. He allowed sons to be sacrificed, even his own son.

Jim couldn't hear God's voice or feel his presence in this room, and it felt like Dean was fighting this battle all alone.

###

The day wore on with no sign of improvement and John felt hopelessness creeping up on him. He'd been scared, yes, but part of him had been sure Dean would wake up and be his old self after some decent rest, as far as he was concerned, there was no other option.

But other than the shallow rise and fall of his breathing, Dean hadn't so much as twitched in over a day and a half.

The doc kept looking at him with that apologetic expression. He wanted to take Dean to hospital, had wanted to probably since the start, and John knew he should have let him.

This was crazy, but John knew he'd come so far down this road, it was next to impossible to go back. How could he bring Dean to a hospital in this condition? How could he tell the doctors he'd performed CPR on his son and not bothered to get him proper care for this long?

And what if he took him now, and risked all the potential fall-out, police, social workers, all of it, only for them to tell him exactly what this Edgely kid had been telling him all along: that all they could do was wait and hope?

He held Dean's limp, chilled hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. He wasn't praying exactly, he didn't think he believed in God anymore, but he did know that if God existed, he'd forsaken this family the day Mary was killed. No, he wasn't praying, but he was desperate. If there was some force out there, some power for good to counteract all the evil they faced, then he begged it for help.

###

Sam knew the others were losing hope. He didn't know if he was imagining it, but it felt like he could see Dean getting thinner, diminishing, fading away. It was awful, this waiting, this not knowing. He didn't know if he was waiting for Dean to wake up or waiting for him to die.

He didn't know if the talking to him helped at all, but he'd do it for a while and then run out of things to say. It was so hard when Dean didn't talk back, ask him questions or laugh at his jokes. Dean never ignored him.

He wished Dean was in hospital at least; then he'd know that everything possible was being done for him. He felt like this was always their lot; they had to put up with and make do. Dean had to always put what he needed aside so that Dad could have his way. Even now, when Dean was fighting for his life, Sam knew that Dad wasn't taking him to the hospital in case he got in trouble.

It was always the same fear, other people wouldn't understand. Dad might go to gaol, and not be able to protect them, and Dean and Sam might end up in foster care, maybe separated. Well, what good had Dad's protection been to Dean? And Sam would rather be in care with Dean alive, even if he couldn't see him every day, than with Dad if Dean was dead.

Sam knew Dad didn't believe in God and wouldn't pray for Dean, and that made him sad and frustrated. Couldn't Dad get over himself for five minutes to do something Dean needed for a change? He was praying and Pastor Jim was, but Dean could use all the help he could get right now, and Dad owed it to him to do everything he could.

He hated this quiet and stillness. He hated the way Dean didn't react to being touched or moved. Didn't grumble or curse when Ryan pointed the flashlight in his eyes. He hated that when he held Dean's hand he didn't squeeze back, or better still call him Samantha and tell him to get the hell off. It was so hard to think of Dean as being helpless.

He was half tempted to do something stupid and dangerous so that Dean would leap up off the bed and resume his big brother protective role. He chafed against it sometimes, but right now he'd give anything to have Dean put his arm out across him as they waited for the traffic to clear so they could cross the road.

It was getting dark again. This would be the second night without any sign of awareness from Dean. How long could he hold on like this? How long before he started to get better or just let go?

###

Ryan was sleeping next door. Dad had just woken up. He'd slept for a couple of hours. Sam had dropped off around eleven the night before and slept until two and then been awake the rest of the night.

The sun was coming up again. Sam tried to think what day it was now. Tuesday, he was pretty sure. Dean had been unconscious for two days. Jim shuffled into the room with coffee for Dad and himself and milk for Sam.

Sam put his hand out and rubbed Dean's shoulder, "Hey Dean, sun's up. You gonna wake up now?"

Sam almost fell off the bed when Dean opened his eyes.

**Continues soon...**

**Please review, it makes my day!**


	6. My son would often feel sharp wounds

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I've responded individually to the reviewers who have PMs enabled, but I'd like to thank here those I couldn't respond to.**

**This chapter title is a line from the poem **_**Nettles**_** by Vernon Scannell. It's a really lovely poem about fathers and sons, and written by a former soldier using military imagery, it's especially apt for the Winchesters.**

**Disclaimer: I can't emphasise enough how much they're not mine and it pains me to say it.**

**Final chapter, so imagine Kansas kicking in with **_**Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done**_**...The road so far:**

**John and Pastor Jim's research let them down badly when John and the boys went to face the Dothro, a demon living of inner light stolen from humans. John was drained of his light, and with only hours to live, Dean and Sam were short on time to come up with a plan to save him. The plan involved Dean allowing the demon to drain his light, and hoping that a salt sigil would be enough to kill the creature and keep him alive. Sam was not enamoured of the less than foolproof plan and so Dean handcuffed him to the bed to keep him from interfering. Dean saved his father but almost died in the attempt. After lying unconscious for two days, he finally opened his eyes... **

**Now:**

**He Shines With Your Light**

**Chapter Six: My son would often feel sharp wounds again**

Dean opened his eyes without ceremony. No fluttering of eyelids; he didn't stir or make a sound, just one second he was out and the next he was awake.

He looked at them, blinking as though trying to focus.

"Dean?" John spoke hesitantly. He had Dean's hand grasped in his, squeezing, but Dean didn't squeeze back. John put his other hand on Dean's forehead, stroking back the hair.

"You with me, dude?"

Dean's eyes drifted closed again.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Dean, open your eyes for me, kiddo." He waited but Dean was under again.

"Do you think he's getting better?" Sam asked.

"Sammy, get the Doc."

"Yes, Sir."

Sam scrambled off the bed and headed for the room across the hall. Usually he'd have been embarrassed and reluctant to wake up a stranger and make demands. Today it didn't even occur to him to think twice.

###

Edgely gave Dean the once over and sat back.

"It's too early to say for sure but I think he's starting to generate his own body heat. He's out again, but he's stable. He's breathing a little deeper. He didn't move? Didn't try to speak?"

"No. I'm not even certain he knew us."

"He must've," Sam insisted, "He woke up when I asked him to."

Edgely took a deep breath, "Well, it certainly seems like progress. Can't say it's definitive, but it's a start, right?" Edgely switched the oxygen mask for a nasal cannula and turned to Pastor Jim, "Pastor, you sense anything?"

John and Sam stared at him expectantly and he leaned in to make his own diagnosis.

"His light feels brighter I think. Nowhere near normal, but stronger than it was."

Sam felt like the fist squeezing his heart loosened its grip a little. He was sure Dean would be ok now.

###

It was lunchtime before Dean opened his eyes again.

"Hey Dean, there you are." Dad spoke softly. Dean still lay heavy on the pillow, still not moving.

"Dean? Can you hear me? It's Dad."

"Dad." Dean's voice was a whisper and he repeated the name without inflection as though trying to recall its meaning.

"Yeah, dude. It's Dad and Sammy."

"Sammy. Little brother."

"That's right Dean."

Dean's eyes slid closed and Sam looked at Dad, scared.

"Dad? Is he...?"

"He'll be ok. He's just getting his bearings." He rubbed Sam's arm in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"Dean? Can you open your eyes for me?"

Dean forced them open. Sam could see it took a lot of effort.

"Dean? How are you feeling, dude?"

Dean didn't answer immediately, considering.

"Tired. Chest hurts."

"I bet. I had to do CPR. You've got a broken rib and you're bruised pretty bad."

"No. Deeper. Like something's torn open inside."

John remembered how it had felt when the Dothro had drained him. Exactly like that. Since he'd woken up he'd felt fine and he'd assumed Dean would too. But Dean hadn't been restored; he'd been drained, used up and left for dead. He was healing through sheer determination. Pain like that, it was so overwhelming, Dean probably didn't even notice the broken rib.

"Doc's gonna give you something for the pain, buddy. Hang on, ok?" He indicated for Edgely to do his thing.

John gave him a break from the questions, just kept stroking his hair, hoping that the repetitive motion would soothe him a little.

Edgely rooted through his bag and pulled out a syringe and vial, "Hey Dean, I'm Dr Edgely, but you can call me Ryan. It's good to see you awake finally. I'm gonna give you some morphine." He pulled the dose into the syringe and administered the morphine through the IV port in Dean's hand.

"You're probably going to feel really sleepy, but this should help with the pain."

"Thanks," It was a whisper on an exhale and Dean was asleep before he finished the word.

###

Dean woke again a few hours later, when the morphine wore off and the pain dragged him back to awareness.

He felt so weak, he could barely move and the pain made it hard to breathe.

Everything inside was a jumble, like he had to figure out how the pieces fitted together. Dad and Sammy were there. He knew them, had lots of memories featuring them, and he knew that the feelings he had when they were nearby, love and worry and protectiveness and security were because they were family, Dad and little brother, but everything felt detached somehow.

Sammy was stroking his hand back and forth on Dean's forearm. If he just focused on that it helped to keep the pain under control.

Dad was saying something and he made himself listen.

"Dean, did you hear me? How's the pain?"

"Still bad."

"Ok dude, Doc'll give you some more painkiller in a little bit, but it'll probably send you to sleep again and we need you to eat something first."

Dean focused on that idea for a moment and realised his mouth was really dry, "Thirsty," he still couldn't speak above a whisper.

He tried to lever himself up, but he just didn't have the strength. Dad put out his hands and lifted him, while Sammy slid some pillows behind him. Dean closed his eyes and clenched his jaw against the pain as his breath came in gasps.

As he opened his eyes, he caught his Dad's expression and there was something there, some emotion that he knew but couldn't quite put together while it hurt so badly. Dad put a steadying hand on his forehead and he felt suddenly comforted and safe, like maybe he wouldn't die from the pain.

As his breathing slowed back to normal, his Dad's expression cleared and he realised what he'd seen. Guilt. Dad was feeling guilty that he was finding it so hard to breathe. How could that be Dad's fault? He said he did CPR. He must have saved Dean's life.

Sammy handed a glass of water to Dad and he lowered it to Dean's lips. Dean tried to lift his hand to take the glass but it shook too much and anyway, he couldn't lift it high enough. The water helped a little though, eased his throat.

God, he was worn out. He just wanted to sleep again, wanted to ease the pain in his chest, but Dad wanted him to eat. He wasn't sure he could. His eyes started to droop; it was hard to keep them open.

"Do you remember what happened?" John asked gently.

"I don't think so."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Dad put his hand back on Dean's forehead and he focused on the touch, trying to stay awake and to ignore the pain, trying to think clearly.

He knew he had to try to do what his Dad wanted. Couldn't disappoint Dad.

Dean frowned and closed his eyes. Everything was so messed up in his head. He wasn't sure which memories happened when.

"I'm sorry Dad, I don't know." He felt tears prick his eyes and tried to blink them back. This should be easy. He felt stupid and weak.

The tears took John by surprise and he felt like an asshole. He was just trying to keep Dean awake until Jim brought in something for him to eat, not put pressure on him, not make him feel like he wasn't trying hard enough.

"Hey, buddy, it's ok. Just relax. There's no hurry. It'll come back to you. You'll remember in your own time." He stroked Dean's hair trying to comfort him. Poor kid was in so much pain and feeling so disorientated would be freaking him out too.

"We're at Pastor Jim's. He's making some lunch. You must be hungry. You've been out for a couple of days."

"Days?"

"Yeah. You had us worried."

He still had John worried. He hadn't had much colour to begin with, but what he had he was losing. His shallow breaths were becoming pants and his eyes were closing even though John could see how hard he was trying to keep them open.

"You ok, dude?"

Dean forced his eyes open, "Dad. Hurts. So tired. I'm sorry."

"Don't you be sorry. Of course you're tired," He looked at Edgely for reassurance. Dean couldn't be expected to stay awake and eat when he was in so much pain, surely?

Edgely stood and put his hand back in his bag. He nodded to John.

"Dean, you just sleep now. The Doc's gonna give you some more painkillers and you can rest up. We'll get you something to eat later."

Even as the morphine entered his vein, Dean's eyes closed and his head drifted to the side, resting in his father's hand.

###

John watched Dean sleep. Sam was huddled up beside his brother trying not to show how upset he was, but if he felt anything like John did, he was feeling torn up inside.

"Dad? Is he gonna be ok? Really?"

"He just needs some time, Sammy."

"Why's he in so much pain? He's had broken ribs before."

John debated whether to tell Sammy. Usually he worked on a need to know basis, but he wondered if in this case, not knowing was freaking Sam out more than knowing. "It's what it felt like for me when the Dothro drained me. I'm sure the pain will fade."

"You're not in pain? Because the Dothro gave you back your light, right?"

"Yeah."

"But Dean...How can you be sure he'll get better?"

"He will, Sammy." John wasn't sure. Not sure at all.

###

John had to get some air. He left Sammy asleep leaning on Dean's shoulder. Edgely was asleep in his room. He knew he should be keeping watch, but he just needed a minute. He found himself downstairs in the kitchen and figured he might as well put some coffee on.

He heard a noise behind him and swung around, expecting a threat only to meet Pastor Jim's eyes as he came into the room.

"I put the food back in the fridge. It'll keep 'til later. How's he doing?"

"He's sleeping again. Sammy too."

Jim took a seat at the table and gratefully accepted the coffee John handed him.

"He's hurting bad, Jim."

Jim nodded sympathetically.

"When that Dothro attacked me it felt like it was tearing my heart out. It was unbearable. I think I passed out pretty fast. When I woke up, I felt fine. 'Cos I was whole again. How could I have assumed... Jim, he's still hurting like that. And he's so confused, he can't remember what happened. I think he barely remembers us."

"It's early days. He needs rest. He'll get back on his feet."

"What if he doesn't? We don't know. There was so little of him left. What if he can't get it back? What if he never gets any better than this?"

"He's already stronger. I can feel the light getting brighter inside him. Just be patient. I know that's hard for you. It would be for any father, but you need to be patient with him. Don't push him too hard."

John swallowed, ashamed, "I was trying to keep him talking so he'd be awake when you brought the food. I was asking what he remembered and he couldn't get it straight in his head. He was trying so hard and I pushed and he said he was sorry. Jim, he said he was sorry he couldn't remember. He was almost crying." John forced himself to get the words out, needing to confess, to be judged and absolved.

"So now you know not to do that again. You know your boy. You know how strong he is. He'll do everything he can to get better."

"I know that, but what if it's not enough?"

"John it's too soon to be thinking like this. It's only been a couple of days."

"What if he can't get strong enough to hunt again? What do I do with him then?"

Jim regarded him for a moment and John felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. The way he'd put that. God, he'd made it sound like Dean was worth nothing to him if he couldn't be a soldier anymore. But he had to consider the worst case scenario. It was John's deepest fear in this. What if Dean was so damaged he couldn't defend himself anymore? What if he couldn't protect Sammy? How would his boys survive the evil out there? The next attack would come, it always would and what if he didn't have Dean to back him up?

"I know you didn't mean that how it sounded. So I'm not even going to call you on it. You know Dean will always fight as hard as he can for you and Sam, you _know_ that. And if he can't fight as hard as he did before, well you just have to adjust your strategy. Your boys come first. Maybe you have to consider the idea that revenge for Mary isn't as important as making sure Dean and Sam are safe."

"Jim, I can't let that monster go. I can't let Mary die for nothing."

"You think Mary would want you to put her death ahead of her sons' lives?"

"Some days the anger is all that keeps me going."

"I understand that. You know I do. But John, I don't have two beautiful, loving, courageous sons. The anger was all I had until I regained my faith. Don't lose your boys over revenge. Once you have it, I guarantee it won't mean a thing to you if they're gone."

John dropped his head into his hands and neither man spoke for a moment. John broke the silence first, "You're right. It's too soon to be thinking like this. Dean'll get better. Everything will go back to normal."

He stood and as he left the room, Jim let out a sigh of frustration.

###

Sammy was asleep on his shoulder and that felt nice, kind of familiar. He wanted to put his arm around his little brother, but it felt like too much effort.

Dad had told him he hadn't eaten in a couple of days, but he really didn't feel hungry. It was hard to feel anything but the pain and that aching drag of exhaustion. Maybe it was like the memories; maybe he was disconnected from feeling hungry too.

Dad seemed frustrated. He was trying really hard to eat, but the food tasted like cardboard, and chewing made his jaw tired. That wasn't normal. Nor was his hand shaking from the weight of a soup spoon, for cryin' out loud. How was he supposed to eat soup if he couldn't keep his hand from shaking? Forget Dad, Dean was frustrated.

He really didn't want Dad to have to feed him. It was bad enough he'd nearly cried in front of him earlier. He hated feeling so weak. It was humiliating to need so much help. He was still pretty muddled, but in all his memories, no matter how young he figured he was in them, he'd always coped by himself, he'd never needed help with anything.

He managed half of it before he knew he'd spill it everywhere if he tried one more spoonful. He needed to get the bowl off his lap before he fell asleep in it. He dropped the spoon back in the bowl and looked up.

"Just try a bit more, dude. You need to build up your strength."

"I'm full. I'm tired."

John picked up the spoon.

"Please Dean."

Dean sighed and let his Dad give him a spoonful. John scooped up another spoonful. As he lifted it, he raised his eyes and stopped. Dean was already asleep.

Sammy woke up suddenly and peered into the half empty bowl.

"Not bad for a first go, right?" He asked. "Is that going spare?"

John nodded and passed the spoon to Sam, who hoovered the rest of the soup as though he was the one who hadn't eaten in days.

###

Dean woke to find Sam's face inches from his own.

"What are you staring at, freak?"

Sam grinned, "You, loser! How're you feeling? You look better. Do you feel better?"

He was still in pain, but it was getting a little more manageable. He rolled himself on his side without feeling like he was going to pass out, and that felt like progress. "I'm ok."

"Yeah, right. You want some water?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Sam gave him a hand to pull himself up higher on the pillows, but he didn't need as much help as yesterday, and his hand didn't shake when he took the glass.

"You're sure you're feeling better?"

His head felt more securely attached; memories and feelings falling back into a coherent order. He finally remembered what had happened.

Wow, that plan actually worked! Dad was alive. Thank God, Dad was alive, and he was fine; well getting better.

"The Dothro? Did I kill it?"

"Yeah. Not before it nearly killed you, you moron."

"It was a good plan, Sammy, it worked."

"It was a stupid plan, Dean, and as soon as you're well, I'm gonna get you for cuffing me to that bed."

"I don't think so, Sammy, you better take your best shot now, while I'm still not at my best."

Sam's face became serious and Dean knew a chick flick moment when he saw it coming.

"Sammy, I'm good, really." Well, he wasn't, not even close, but he'd get there.

"I was scared. I almost lost you."

"But you didn't. And we've got Dad back. So it's all good, right? Worth it in the end?"

Sam looked dubious, "Promise me you won't do anything like that again, Dean."

"I can promise you I won't do anything like that today," Dean offered with a lopsided grin. "Look Sammy, for you and Dad? There's nothing I wouldn't do. It's my job to have your back. Sometimes that's gonna be dangerous."

Sam sighed and Dean wished there was something more comforting he could say.

"Breakfast?" Sam asked hopefully.

Dean thought about it, and he actually did feel hungry, "Yeah. Need to take a leak first though. Help me up?"

Sam smirked. "Dude, you've been in bed for three days. You've got a tube in your dick."

Dean was horrified.

###

Dean managed toast and bacon for breakfast, along with a glass of juice. He didn't have to be force-fed; he actually enjoyed it and John was so relieved that when Dean fell asleep again right afterwards, he took himself out to the backyard and cried for ten minutes.

###

Dean slept most of the day, but each time he did wake up he was alert and cheerful. Still, Edgely could see that he was still in a lot of pain whenever the morphine wore off and more so than he was admitting.

Dean was keen to get up and about, which was a good sign, so Edgely sent the others out of the room so he could remove the catheter without hurting Dean's dignity too much.

"You're gonna take it easy though, right? Don't go pushing yourself too hard. You're still gonna need a lot of rest."

"Not getting a lot of choice about that. I just fall asleep in the middle of conversations right now."

"Well, keep listening to your body, ok?"

Dean nodded. With his Dad and his brother out of the room he didn't look so buoyant.

"You ok?"

"Yeah."

"Between you and me. Doctor patient privilege."

"Just wanna stop being tired you know. And the pain makes me feel tired too. Do you think it'll go away soon?"

"It's hard to say. I've never dealt with a Dothro attack before. Your Dad and the Pastor tell me no one's ever survived one before. I should be writing a paper on you." He grinned. "You're feeling better than you were, right? Pain's not as bad? You have more energy than when you first woke up."

"Yeah."

"You're getting stronger practically by the hour. Pastor Jim thinks the same about the inner light thing too. I think it won't be too much longer."

Dean nodded.

"That was a really brave thing you did for your Dad, Dean. And the way you've fought your way back. It's very impressive."

Dean looked at the Doctor and considered whether he dared say it. "Everyone thinks I don't get scared, but that's not true. I feel scared all the time that I'll screw up and Dad or Sammy'll get hurt. I get scared when Dad leaves to hunt and I can't talk to him. I don't know if he's ok and he's always gone longer than he says, and I'm so scared it's because he got killed, and what would I do then? How would I take care of Sammy? I get scared they'll say I'm not good enough and they'll take him away from me and put him with foster parents, and what if they weren't good to him? I have to get better at hunting. I have to be the best so Dad can rely on me to watch his back so that stuff won't happen."

That was why Dean had risked his life to save his father's. Edgely's heart broke for the boy. He was seventeen worrying about things he shouldn't even know about. How long had he been carrying this stuff?

"You have every right to be scared Dean, that's terrifying stuff, but you've got to remember, you do a great job of taking care of your dad and your brother. They both say so. Dean, they were lost without you. I think they need you to look after yourself as much as they need you to look after them."

"Sometimes I can't. Sometimes if I looked after myself it would mean they got hurt or didn't get what they needed. I can't let that happen."

Edgely nodded. There was no point contradicting the kid. He'd seen and heard enough the past few days to know what he said was true. John and Sam were only ok when Dean was pretending to be ok for them, especially John. Dean was just being realistic.

"Well, you take this time to rest up. You can be strong for them, but they know what a close call this was, maybe more than you realise. I'm gonna make sure your Dad knows you need to take it slow, and you don't pretend that you're ok when you're not. Like you said, you look out for them, so you need time to get back on top of your game."

"Yeah."

"You wanna try and get up then?"

"God, yeah. Sick of this bed."

"I bet. How about a trip to the bathroom. You can get cleaned up a bit."

###

Dean felt so much better for the shower that he wondered if Pastor Jim sanctified his water tank. It had to be something supernatural.

He stuffed away a plateful of lasagne, starving now, and wondering how he hadn't felt hungry before. He couldn't help but notice how Dad and Sammy kept stealing glances at him as he ate. He figured they were relieved he wouldn't be needing so much watching anymore.

It wasn't late, but he'd done more in the past couple of hours than he had in days, and he felt the lethargy creeping back over him.

Edgely gave him a top up of morphine and Dean was just about done for the day.

"I'm gonna go, but I'm leaving the painkillers with the Pastor, so when you need them you just let him know. I'll be back tomorrow to check on you."

"Thanks Doc." Dean dropped off and didn't even hear Edgely close the door behind him.

###

The pain was better again the next day, and Dean felt like he was finally getting back on track. He still felt weak and tired, but he was confident it was just a matter of time before he'd be back to his old self.

The doctor stopped by mid morning with a prescription for oral painkillers, so he was done with the IV too, which meant he could be more mobile.

He could get to the bathroom with minimal support and Dad helped him downstairs after lunch, so he got to drop off on the couch instead of in bed, just for a change.

###

John asked Pastor Jim for a little space in the afternoon, so he took a protesting Sam off to the store for some supplies. John sat in the easy chair and debated waking Dean up and having to talk or waiting for him to wake naturally and risking missing the opportunity.

Just as he'd plucked up the courage to wake him, Dean shifted on the couch and opened his eyes.

"Hey Dad, what's up?"

"Hey dude, how're you feeling?"

"I'm ok."

"Would you tell me if you weren't?"

Dean frowned uncertainly, and John knew he was changing the rules on him by asking that question. Dean told him when he absolutely could not function without help. Otherwise, he did what was expected, he sucked it up and got on with whatever John had asked him to, regardless of how he felt.

"Where's Sammy?" John sighed. So Dean wasn't going to answer the question. He guessed that was an answer in itself.

"He's helping Pastor Jim get some groceries."

"You ok?" It was less unusual for Dean to ask John that question, and he was ashamed to say he felt on safer ground.

"Yeah, kiddo, I'm fine."

"No side effects after the Dothro?"

"Nope, woke up all better. Thanks to you. You did good, son. You killed that evil son of a bitch and you saved a lot of people."

Dean looked away, embarrassed.

"Thanks, Dad."

"I mean it. But you know, seeing you hurt like that? I never wanna go through that again. You sure there was no other way?"

"Not in the time we had."

"If you hadn't had to worry about me?"

"Well then I guess we'd have had three months instead of three hours. Maybe there'd have been another way, I don't know. But it worked, right?"

"It was a big risk to take. And it came really close to not working. It took thirty eight minutes of CPR to get you back. That was the longest thirty eight minutes of my life."

"Trying to come up with that plan, knowing you might die any second? That was the longest three hours of my life."

"You got me there. But, Dean, you've gotta remember, your brother needs you. Maybe more than he needs me."

He could see Dean wanted to say something, suspected what it was, but he couldn't let him say those words, he couldn't let Dean say that he needed his dad even if Sammy didn't.

This wasn't the conversation he'd promised himself he'd have with Dean. It wasn't anywhere close.

"Your job is to watch out for Sammy, you know that. You don't something like that for me again."

And there it was, the implication that Dean was allowed to, even expected to sacrifice himself for Sam. John wanted to take it back but it was already out of his mouth and Dean had heard it and he'd understood it.

Dean nodded and his shoulders dropped as though an extra weight had been added. Why was it so hard for him to just say Dean should look out for himself sometimes because he deserved to have a life and be happy? Why couldn't he say he'd always be there when Dean needed him?

Maybe because John couldn't guarantee either of those things and it would just be cruel to dangle them. Maybe because Dean could take the extra weight and he'd never baulk or complain.

Dean looked away and John could see that he was holding back tears, but Dean was a soldier, and he followed his father's orders, no matter how hard, and no matter how brutal.

"Yes, Sir."

###

John announced at dinner that they'd imposed on Jim long enough, and that now Dean wasn't confined to bed, they'd be heading back to their own place later that evening while the traffic was light.

Dean was quiet following their talk and Pastor Jim suspected that something had been said that afternoon that John didn't want him to know about. Something that had motivated the sudden departure.

Sam looked suspicious too. He'd been looking that way since they'd got back, picking up the vibe from Dean, but knowing he'd get nothing out of either his father or his brother, he mollified himself by sticking close to Dean, and helping him as much as he'd allow.

Jim wanted a chance to talk to Dean, maybe try and do some damage control, but somehow John engineered it so the Pastor was never alone with the boy, and in the end all he had time for was a brief hug and the usual platitudes in front of the others.

"Dean, you call if you need anything, ok? And I mean anything."

"Thanks. Take care of yourself, Pastor Jim."

He smiled, "You too, son. I'm gonna miss you. It'll be quiet around here."

"You'll have your place back to yourself. And we won't be eating you out of house and home."

Jim put his hand on Dean's shoulder, "Well Dean, you know I never mind that."

Dean smiled diffidently, and Jim knew whatever John had said had chipped another piece of the boy's self worth away.

"Dean's tired," Sam announced, putting an arm around him and starting to lead him to the car. Dean almost shrugged him off, but he was pale and obviously drained enough to need the help.

Sam got his hug once Dean was in the car, and Jim was angry enough that his hand shake for John was perfunctory at best, and paired with a hard stare.

"You look after those boys, you hear?"

"Yeah, Jim. Thanks for everything ok?"

"Don't you 'Yeah Jim' me. I mean it. What they've been through this week. They need you right now."

"I know. I'm doing my best."

###

Dean slept all the way back in the car, and John was ready to carry him into the house, not wanting to disturb him, but as the car rolled to a stop and the engine fell silent, Dean stirred and woke.

Sam dashed out and opened the back door, offering a hand to his older brother, and it was testament to how exhausted and shaky Dean still felt that he didn't bat the hand away, but leaned into the support gratefully. John hovered, ready to offer more if it was required but he could see that Sam needed this contact with Dean and it was good for him to feel useful.

When they got to the stairs, Dean paused, looking daunted and Sam looked at John, knowing Dean would need more support than he could give.

John handed a duffel to Sam and pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder, steadying him with an arm around his waist. Halfway up he took most of Dean's weight as soon as he felt his knees start to buckle.

He sat Dean on the edge of his bed and Sam crouched down to unlace and pull off his boots. John went to help him with his shirt, but Dean lay back and was out like a light as soon as his head touched the bed. He didn't stir as John dragged him up the bed to get his head on the pillow and his feet off the floor, so John didn't bother with his clothes, just smoothed a blanket over him.

"He's gonna be ok now, isn't he Dad?" It was probably the thousandth time Sam had asked him that question over the last few days, but John didn't mind. It helped both of them to reaffirm it, to let the truth of it sink in a little more each time.

"Yeah, he's gonna be ok." John sat next to Sam on his bed where they could both watch over Dean for a while.

###

Dean mostly just slept, ate and shuffled to the bathroom for the next couple of days. He refused painkillers on Friday, and though John could see he was still hurting and would have given him more for at least the next couple of days, it was a relief that Dean felt the pain wasn't bad enough to warrant them anymore.

John and Sam hovered around him and Dean put up with it with surprising patience. They'd both been so terrified of losing Dean that seeing him up and about, getting a little stronger with each passing hour, seemed like an undeserved gift, one that could perhaps be taken away at any moment. Maybe Dean sensed something of that fear, or maybe he was still feeling vulnerable enough to be grateful for their closeness. Whatever the reason, John knew it wouldn't last, knew that it was right that it wouldn't. Dean would keep getting stronger and they'd all get back to normal, eventually.

###

On Saturday morning, John answered a knock on the door to find a very pretty girl of about Dean's age on the porch.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, Mr Winchester. Is Dean home?"

"Who wants to know?" It was probably overly gruff considering the girl was obviously not a threat, but the past week had kept his protective instincts in overdrive and with his boys finally safe in the house, even opening the door seemed like an unnecessary risk.

She stuck her hand out and he found himself shaking it, "I'm Maria. I'm a friend of Dean's. We were supposed to meet up last night but he didn't come and I wanted to check he was ok."

So this was the famous Maria Tucci. He couldn't deny his son had taste.

John remembered Dean saying back before all this started that they were supposed to have another date on Friday, last night. Was the girl pissed she'd been stood up? He felt defensive on Dean's behalf.

Dean had nodded off around five in the afternoon. John had heard him get up and go to the bathroom around two in the morning and he'd checked on him twenty minutes later. Dean had been asleep again and hadn't woken up since. It was nine in the morning now and he wasn't planning on disturbing him. Dean would wake when he was hungry.

"Dean's sick. I guess he forgot he was supposed to meet you. Probably forgot what day it was."

"Yeah, I figured that would be it. Is he ok?" She didn't seem annoyed. Just worried.

"You didn't think he stood you up?" John was intrigued.

"No. Dean wouldn't do that. It's not serious or anything, but he knows how to treat a girl. He'd at least call. Does he have the flu or something? My Dad had that a while back and it laid him out for a week. Can I see him?"

"Yeah, flu. He's sleeping."

"Oh. Well, I don't want to disturb him. Can I leave him a note?"

"Sure, I guess," John looked around half-heartedly, "I don't know where there's any paper."

"That's ok, I've got a notebook." She dug around in her backpack for the paper and pen, then leaned awkwardly on the door frame to write.

John blew out a breath, "You want to come in? You can write at the table," He offered unwillingly.

"Great, thanks!"

She made herself comfortable at the table as John went back to making coffee. She looked up longingly and John reluctantly offered her a cup.

"That'd be awesome! Thanks Mr Winchester."

Sam shuffled into the room in his t-shirt and shorts, rubbing his eyes.

"Hey Sam, how's it going?"

Sam stopped short and looked at her, his mouth open. John smirked. Obviously Sammy thought his brother had good taste in girls too.

"Hi," Sam managed, faintly.

"Excellent bed head," Maria observed cheerfully.

Sam smoothed his hair unsuccessfully. "Dean's sick." He offered.

"Your Dad said; flu. Bad luck, huh? I'm just writing him a note. So I haven't seen you guys around this week. You been away?"

"Visiting our uncle."

"Cool. You have fun?" John's eyes caught Sam's in alarm.

Sam just shrugged, non-committal, and took a seat at the table. Maria seemed to accept that as answer enough, and went back to writing.

John handed her the coffee and sat down with his own cup.

Maria scribbled away for a few more moments and then tore off the sheet, folded it carefully and wrote Dean's name on it in curly flowing script.

"Will you give this to him for me when he's up?" She handed the note to Sam and he nodded.

She sipped at her coffee and seemed perfectly comfortable in the silence.

"I like your place," She said after a couple of minutes. "You guys don't bother with all those trinkets and stuff most people have. I feel like I spend my life dusting my Mom's china."

John and Sam both looked at her at a loss. They didn't have china, but they spent their lives cleaning guns and sharpening knives. Sam wondered what Maria would think if she knew what their chores were.

"Well, I better go. I'm going hiking with my family this morning. Thanks for the coffee." She tucked her notebook and pen back in her bag, slung it over her shoulder, took her cup to the sink, rinsed it and put it in the drainer.

"Tell Dean I hope he's feeling better soon and if he wants he can call me when he's up to it."

"Sure," John stood and followed her to the door. He could never get over the confidence of these kids.

She turned and smiled brightly, "Well, I'll see you soon, I guess."

"Yeah." John closed the door and stood for a moment. Nice kid. Friendly, easy going, kind, pretty. Just the sort of girl he'd want for Dean if that was any kind of option. He was almost sorry they'd be back on the road soon.

**###**

Dean dragged himself downstairs around eleven, and Sam raced to his side to help him down the last few steps. He slumped into a chair at the table.

"Maria stopped by this morning. She left you a note." Sam held it out to him.

"Maria? What day is it?" Dean took the note and ran his finger over his name.

"Saturday. It's ok, we told her you had the flu, that's why you couldn't make it last night."

"Damn. Was she pissed?"

"Don't think so. She said she hoped you feel better soon and she left you the note. She said you could call if you wanted. She was gonna go hiking today, but I guess she'll be back later. What she write?" Sam prompted.

Dean flipped open the note and his slight smile became a grin as he read. John's heart clenched. That was the first real smile he'd seen on Dean's face in a week.

"Dean, what she write?"

"None of your beeswax, Nosy Mc Snooperson!"

"Come on! Please?"

"She likes your hair," Dean teased, reaching out to mess up Sam's newly combed hair.

"Stop it!"

"You asked!"

Sam almost shoved Dean in retaliation but at the last second remembered the broken rib, the lingering exhaustion and instead he messed Dean's hair in return. It was short so it made little difference, but it was the intention that mattered.

John watched them teasing each other and felt overwhelmed with gratitude. They'd come so close to losing this.

###

Dean took Maria out again on Wednesday. John was still up when he got back.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine. Sammy's asleep?"

"Yeah. You have fun?"

Dean gave him a cocky grin, "Yeah. But no details, right?"

"You didn't wear yourself out too much?"

"I'm good."

"'Cos you need to take it easy. You're still getting back on your feet."

"On my feet?" Dean returned suggestively and John snorted a laugh.

"You know what I mean."

"I feel pretty good, Dad." John regarded him critically. He looked pretty good, much better. In fact, if he didn't know what Dean had been through, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to tell. And that light Pastor Jim had been able to sense at its lowest ebb? It was shining bright enough for even John to see tonight. Typical that it would be Dean's libido that kicked it back into high gear.

"Good. You better get some sleep. You know we're leaving tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"Maria's ok with that?"

Dean was surprised, "You're worried about Maria?"

"She seemed like a good kid is all."

"Yeah, she's great. She knew we weren't staying long though. She's ok."

###

John and Sam were loading up the car. Dean had popped out to sort out what he called some unfinished business. They both figured he'd gone to see Maria and say goodbye, so they were cutting him some slack on the packing.

They were still trying to get him to take it easy, so John had offered him a ride, but Dean had declined saying he didn't have far to go and anyway he felt like a walk before the long drive. He'd only been gone half an hour when Sam spotted him walking back down the sidewalk. He hurried to meet him.

"Maria take it ok?"

"Huh?"

"You were saying goodbye to Maria, weren't you?"

"No. We said goodbye last night."

"So where were you?"

"Had a lesson to teach."

"What does that mean?"

They'd reached the car and John turned to them, leaning on the open trunk. He frowned.

"What happened to your hand, Dean?"

Sam grabbed the offending hand and examined the bruised knuckles.

"Just making sure that cheating prick Donnie Baker knows to pick on guys his own size from now on."

Sam grinned. It was always tough leaving town and starting up someplace new, but this time he was ok. Better than ok. His big brother was back and nothing could ruin his mood.

**The end.**

**Thank you for sticking with this story. I hope it was as much fun for you to read as it was for me to write. Thank you to everyone who set alerts; made it a favourite or posted a comment. I've been thrilled to receive them all. **

**Any comments on the end, constructive criticism, good or bad are gratefully received. Like Chuck said, "Endings are hard. Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning," and that's certainly been my experience of writing...**


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